


The Ancient and Most Noble House of Weasley

by RHGroeninga



Series: The Ancient and Most Noble House of Weasley [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, 1970s, 20th Century, Alternate Universe, Butterfly-Effect, Dark Weasleys, F/M, Gen, Grey Weasleys, Gryffindor Weasleys, Hit-Wizards, Hogwarts Houses, Hufflepuff Weasley, Large Time-Lapses, Multi, Multi-Era, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Politics, Pureblood Society, Purebloods, Ravenclaw Weasleys, Rise of Voldemort, Sacred Twenty-Eight, Slytherin Septimus Weasley, Slytherin Weasleys, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Weasley, Weasley Family, Weasley Family History, Weasley-Malfoy Feud, What-If, first wizarding war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-01-29 10:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12629358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RHGroeninga/pseuds/RHGroeninga
Summary: What if Septimus had been motivated to save the name and status of the Weasley family on the first of September 1932?"Alright, then. Sort me in whatever House you think is best."The Sorting Hat didn't need long to think."SLYTHERIN!"The Great Hall was stunned into silence, only a clinking of coins being heard as Alrod handed Peter his money. The Weasleys were a Gryffindor house, everyone knew that. They’d been Gryffindor since even before Gryffindor existed. Anyone who was interested in wizarding history, anyone who put importance in purity and blood-lines, anySlytherinknew that. And yet Septimus Weasley had been sorted in Slytherin, Gryffindor’s perpetual arch-nemesis.





	1. Frugoldus Weasley 1932

**Author's Note:**

> This work is already up at FanFiction.net. In time I'll upload more stories from there on here, so don't be surprised to find the same content on both sites.
> 
> Added: 04-11-2017, please read and review :)

_Frugoldus Weasley 1932_

"This is ridiculous!" Frugoldus exclaimed.

Lillian bowed over his shoulder in an attempt to read the paper, drying the dishes by hand. She was one of the few, possibly the only, pureblood witch to ever do any housework by hand, but as she had never been good at household spells she had little choice. Her husband, dear Frug, was poor – in fact, the Weasleys might just be the poorest of all old wizarding families in Britain – so purchasing a house-elf was out of the question. "What is?" she asked.

Frug laid his finger accusingly on a large advertisement for a book called _The Pure-Blood Directory_ , which included a list of names, _the Sacred Twenty-Eight_. "This is! A list of the 'great, pure-blood families', of the so-called 'wizard nobility', and guess what? The Weasleys are on it! Right along the most Dark and corrupt names around: Black, Gaunt, Rosier, Fawley! –"

"The Minister is corrupt?" Lillian raised one eyebrow as her husband laid the paper down and turned to look at her with wide eyes.

"Of course he is!” the redhead exclaimed, “He jabbers and talks, turns up at every party, shakes hands with those of money and status, strews praise and promises at every occasion but hasn't achieved a single thing! Of course he is corrupt, all those shady wankers on there are!"

Lillian scowled and tutted her lips, whacking Frugoldus softly on the head. Not only the Weasley name was included in said list, her own family, Abbott, was on there as well. "My name is on that list too, Mr. Weasley! How do you _dare_ to say your wife is shady and corrupt! Don't you _think_ about it!"

Frugoldus rolled his eyes. "Of course not _all_ of them are, but you do see my point, don't you?" His expression was almost pleading. "Only marrying each other, ordering the rest of the wizarding world around, all about money, status, getting heirs. They are nothing like us."

His wife smirked. "You _do_ realise you have more male, pure-blood heirs than all the current Blacks together?"

"Lily!"

"Not to mention your old man Charles, who lived to ensure three generations of Weasleys kept the line pure and vital until giving the light,” she glanced again at the article, “and he seems to have succeeded. Now tell me the old bat wouldn’t have been proud to see you listed along the _Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_.”

Frug groaned. He didn’t need to be reminded of his great-grandfather, who’d pestered his son, grandson and even his great-grandsons about traditional pureblood marriages, right up until he died at the tender age of 120. Frugoldus was actually ashamed to admit that without Charles pushing him to propose an old family, Lillian would’ve never been his bride.

"He was my _great-grandfather_ ,” he argued nonetheless, “he was born in the eighteenth century himself, he didn’t know any better."

"You may have a point." Lillian conceded. She headed back to the sink. "But on a serious note, I think you can be proud of your name on that list, even if you don't care about these matters yourself. To the people who _do_ care, it is a proof you're worth something, even if they're not impressed by your money, or your job."

It was silent.

"Goldie?"

"I'm going to make a complaint."

Her hands faltered, and then laid the last plate back in the water. She put them both on her hips, and spun around to scowl fiercely at her husband. "Goldie, you know I'm always with you in this, but this is taking it too far! Making a statement is one thing, openly refusing to admit your pureblood status a whole other! Think of your children! They might get something out of this list, you know it won't change their view on the matter, so why wouldn't you give them any advantage they can get! You want them to be successful, don't you?"

Despite being pure-blood himself – or maybe just _because of_ his ancestry – Frugoldus had an unequalled hatred to many of the old, pompous pureblood traditions in which the richer families engaged. Lillian suspected it was because of the Weasleys' downfall in funds and status, and his current place as broom repairman for a small manufacturer, that he felt more at home with the simpler half-blood and Muggle-born families. But their father’s beliefs should not stop her children from being proud of their lineage. They should be able to move up in the world if they wanted to, regardless of any prejudices of their age.

"Of course I want the children to be successful, but not because of their heritage!" Frugoldus exclaimed passionately, "I want them, I want _us_ to be successful and show everyone that blood doesn't matter, that is what I want! I want those Blacks and Malfoys and – and – Rosiers! – to see that they are wrong, and that we, with our believes, can come just as far as them." Frugoldus didn't care whether his family was poor or rich, where house they lived in or what food they ate, as long as his children defied the distasteful yearning to grandeur that had taken over the wizarding world. They shouldn’t be ashamed of their modest life, but embrace it, and hold it with pride.

Lillian and Frugoldus stared at each other hard, gazed determinedly in each other's eyes. Then, when neither would look away, Lillian couldn't hold in her smile anymore, setting off Frugoldus, and they both burst out in a series of half-restrained giggles, easing the fight out of them as if it had never been there in the first place.

Frug eyed her expression gently. "I'm going to do it anyway, whatever you will say. Our children are bright, I know it, if Septimus wouldn't go to Gryffindor he'd be in Ravenclaw. His chess-playing skills are marvellous, have you seen?"

"I still think you're being stupid, and you're wasting a chance." Lillian replied unerringly, finally finishing the dishes and sending them to the cupboard with a swipe of her wand. "And Septimus has been playing that game for years now, I can't believe you've only just taken notice?"

Frug grinned widely. "We Weasleys are _born_ geniuses."

Lillian smirked. "Though you're a bit slow on the uptake yourself."

He frowned, and then laughed when Lillian laughed at their old gag. Lillian and he had four sons, Alrod, Septimus, George and Galieus. They were all brave, boisterous little Weasley boys, cheerful by default but surprisingly intelligent, a trait Lillian often claimed to have passed on them as Frugoldus in her opinion was far too thick.

Frugoldus was still angry at the author of that objectionable book, but always found it was easier to smile then to scowl. It made him a carefree lad, a characteristic he treasured, if he was true to himself. He didn’t care about much, the only wish he had was for his children to live a happy life.

And, though poor and slighted, the Weasleys _were_ happy. They lived in a modest, comfortable brick house near a quaint village called Lockerton, which had originally been built by Frugoldus’ grandparents, Bilius and Emily Weasley, when they’d married and wanted a place for themselves. Close to it was Weasley Cottage, the Weasley’s main family home for more than a century – ever since Lord Charles Galahad Weasley, Frug’s ancieent and meddling great-grandfather, was forced to sell their ancestral ‘Weasley Den’. When Charles Galahad had finally died, Frugoldus’ parents – Lord Ragenald Weasley and his wife Morgen Ross – had moved there, and they lived there still, always open to a visit from any grandchildren who came in for a cup of cacao or a piece of advice.

Once, Frugoldus also had a younger brother named Carolus, who he’d always been very close to as there only had been two of them. Carolus had found a wife before Frugoldus had, and soon had a little son, Martin Galahad. Their family had lived in a small house near the seaside called White Cliff. Like Frugoldus liked tinkering with brooms, Carolus liked to experiment with potions, though seldom with success, and he had been trying to make a living out of his favourite occupation. However, not long after Frug’s first son Alrod was born, a small potions accident had caused the entire house to explode, killing Carolus, his wife Sitha, the two-year-old Martin and the unborn baby still in Sitha’s womb.

When the news reached Lockerton, Frugoldus and Lillian had been shattered by the loss of the young family. Frug had remembered Carolus had once jokingly told him he’d call the unborn baby Septimus, because he’d have been the seventh child in a row to be both a boy and redheaded. That was why, when that seventh child turned out to be a son of Frugoldus, Septimus’ name was soon decided. He was named after the cousin that never would be born.

…

That year, the year _The Pure-Blood Directory_ came out and the Head of the Weasley House openly deplored its content, was the year Septimus would join Hogwarts. Frugoldus told his boy that he would probably be in Gryffindor, as generations of Weasleys before him had, and insisted once more that whatever people would say, the list of the _Sacred Twenty-Eight_ was a lot of bogus and pure-bloods were no better than other wizards, and Septimus should announce that message loud and clear to anyone who disagreed.

After that, little Septimus turned to his mother, who gave him a hug and a kiss and then said something that, unbeknownst to her, would split their universe from another, turn lives and events for the worse or the better, and that would even alter a war that determined the future for wizards and Muggles alike.

"Don't listen to him too much," she said, brushing a flaming red lock aside, "I think your father just has a grudge against those snobby, rich families, you know, like the Blacks and the Malfoys. But being a pure-blood is nothing to be ashamed of, on the contrary: being proud of your blood only means being proud of your ancestors, where you come from, and for them you have every reason to be proud. You're a clever boy, Septimus, so enjoy school and make the most of it." She smiled warmly at him. "Make us proud."


	2. Septimus Weasley 1932

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added: 07-11-2017, 00:21

_Septimus Weasley 1932_  
  
One by one, the first years were called to the front, where they sat down, wore the odd, singing, tattered hat and we're sorted in one of Hogwarts' magnificent houses: RAVENCLAW! SLYTHERIN! HUFFLEPUFF! GRYFFINDOR!  
  
Nervous for what was coming, Septimus looked to his left, where his brother Alrod was silently muttering with his friends. He immediately recognized Peter Jackson, a friendly, though quite immature third year with dark blond curls and a defiant glint in his eyes. Betting on his sorting, Septimus suspected.  
  
"Black, Cedrella!"

"SLYTHERIN!"  
  
Like the Blacks were notorious Slytherins, the Weasleys were Gryffindors through and through. According to the family myth, their ancestor Harrald Weasley had been fighting along Godric's side during the age of the founders. When Godric Gryffindor was killed, Harrald made it his personal quest to avenge his death. He succeeded, but before he could return to his home, he was ended by Gullan, the Black Dragon of the West.  
  
"Mayfield, Gertrude!"  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
Nowadays, less and less of the students in the school were of old wizarding families, like himself, and thus long-lasting bonds between families and houses became rarer and rarer. The only house which seemed to be spared from this ultimate doom was Slytherin, as that house forbade Muggle-borns to intrude.

His father said that it didn't matter. It didn't matter who your ancestors were, how old your family was, as long as you could wave a wand – and make something happen – you were a wizard, and worth no more or less than any other wizard in the universe. Of course Septimus saw the truth in this, he'd no delusions about being a magical prodigy purely by blood-status, but still... the Weasley's were one of the Twenty-Eight. They came from a long line of brave, independent wizards, loyal and selfless, true Gryffindors, who gave a rat's arse about what others thought of them. And of  _that_ , he was proud, and he had every reason to be proud, hadn't he?

Frugoldus wasn't proud. His father had made a complaint, he'd – falsely – declared they were related to many interesting Muggles, supposedly through Septimus grand-mother's family, the Rosses. A few Slytherins had even called him 'blood-traitor' when he left the train, as if they'd betrayed their own family by not being full enough of themselves.

Septimus clenched his teeth in fury. It wasn't bloody fair. Why should he be ashamed of being a 'pure-blood', only to be even more ashamed of being ashamed? He'd already many times been called 'poor' and 'common', his family had lost so much of their wealth, were they to lose their name now as well? Were they to be called 'blood-traitor' too? Was the name 'pure-blood' reserved for bigoted, filthily rich Slytherin brats?

"Weasley, Septimus!"

He strolled forwards, still boiling inside. He would show them. He would show everyone a Weasley could be proud and successful too, and even though being currently the poorest wizarding family in Britain, they hadn't lost their fight and certainly were no blood-traitors!

He sat on the stool, and the hat was lowered on his unambiguously flaming red hair.

_My, my, what is this? It's a while ago since I've sorted a student this angry. What's the bother?_

Septimus stiffened when the hat started to talk, but quickly came over it. "People say my family is dumb and low because we're poor, and now they even call us blood-traitors, because father denies that we're pureblood! And now they laugh at us and look down at us and it isn't bloody fair!"

_Ah, I see. Plenty of pride and fire to be a Gryffindor, not unlike your father, and stubborn as a mule. But pride and venom are Slytherin traits as well, especially when concerning blood and family. You're a curious Weasley, mister._

"What's so special about me, then? If I'm so much like my father, why not just place me into Gryffindor?"

_Do you want to be placed into Gryffindor? I would do it if you asked me to, the Weasley family is traditionally Gryffindor._

"I wouldn't mind going there, but I wouldn't mind going elsewhere either. My mother was a Hufflepuff. I'm just curious as to why you haven't made me a Gryffindor already?"

_Even though most Weasleys are Gryffindor by heart, there has long been a distinct streak of Ravenclaw in your family. It's not exactly a brightness of mind –_ Septimus frowned in offense,  _Oh, come on, if your family really was that clever you wouldn't be so poor right now,_ the Sorting Hat said pointedly,  _but many Weasleys do have a Ravenclaw brightness of heart, an undeniable curiosity for the world around them and an urge to study it, to experiment on it, but not for any kind of profit, no, for knowledge for knowledge's sake, a desire that typically falls under the Ravenclaw House. You lot just can't help yourselves._

"So the choice is between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw?"

_No. The Weasley Ravenclaw streak was in your father, your late uncle and your brother even, but seems to have passed you by. Your concerns are about the more common aspects of life. Family, friends, money, success..._

Septimus scowled at the word 'common'.

_...pride._

"Then what was the whole story about? If it isn't about me?"

_I just wanted to show you that a family being strongly afflicted to a certain House, doesn't necessarily mean that family has no traits for other Houses. Quite on the contrary, many Weasleys would have loved Ravenclaw, yet always chose Gryffindor. Not you, however. Though you are quite clever, more so than many of your family, you wish to use that cleverness to gain success and status rather than knowledge. You find people look down at you and your family, and you've the ambition to change that._

"I love my family, and I'm proud of them, but I hate us being belittled all the time, because of our money, because of Dad's job and now because of the 'blood-traitor' thing. We're just as old and pureblood as them, and still they say we're 'no real purebloods'!"

_You're older, actually. Your ancestor Harrald Weasley was a knight and friend of Godric Gryffindor himself._

"Exactly! Wait, how do you know that story?"

The hat chuckled.  _If you ever read a book on the Founders of Hogwarts, you’ll probably find I actually was quite closely involved – with Godric especially._

“Really?” he asked curiously, resolving to find a book on the matter as soon as he had the time.

_Yes, but that is a mystery I will leave for yourself to find out, I still need to sort you. Actually, you would fit right in with Gryffindor if you'd want to go there. You are brave, proud and stubborn – as all your ancestors were – and that house would do you very well._

_You also possess over a sharp mind – you’re a good strategical thinker which shows in your talent for chess – but you miss the eagerness to discover the world that so defines Ravenclaw. You're prepared to work hard to reach your goal and you are unwaveringly loyal to your family, but underneath that calm and friendly exterior is a passion and determination that will never fare well within the badger's House._

_As for Slytherin... You’re proud of your family, and care a lot for the Weasley name's status, in sharp contrast to your father. You want to elate the Weasley family, bring back money and flair that usually comes with being a pureblood, but that the Weasleys have lost over the years. You're ambitious in doing so, yes, very ambitious, and you've got the brain to bring it about. Slytherin could create in you a certain deviousness, and making friends there would negate any arguments about you being a blood-traitor. What do you think?_

"There's never been a Weasley in Slytherin before..." Septimus considered, but then asked worriedly, "But Slytherin and Gryffindor are opposites. Am I that different from my family?"

_They're rivals, not opposites. Slytherin and Gryffindor are much more alike than many think: they're both proud, powerful, dominant, and what some might call aggressive. Ambitious is a synonym for determined, they're both fighters willing to give everything to achieve their goals. The only real difference is the way they fight: Gryffindor is the self-sacrificing hero who rushes into the fight, Slytherin is the general who steers his armies for victory with as few as possible losses. Most people with either House's qualities have a bit of both, as do you._

"Alright, then. Sort me in whatever House you think is best."

The Sorting Hat didn't need long to think.

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Great Hall was stunned into silence, only a clinking of coins being heard as Alrod handed Peter his money. The Weasleys were a Gryffindor house, everyone knew that. They’d been Gryffindor since even before Gryffindor existed. Anyone who was interested in wizarding history, anyone who put importance in purity and blood-lines, any  _Slytherin_ knew that. And yet Septimus Weasley had been sorted in Slytherin, Gryffindor’s perpetual arch-nemesis.

Septimus sat down at the place held free for the new sortees at the Slytherin table, head held high. Most older years looked stunned to see him there, but here and there there was a welcoming smile, and the polite applause expected from the Slytherin House sounded before Dumbledore could continue the Sorting, a bit delayed, but still there.

It was just two days ago Septimus’ father had publicly denouced their own pureblood status, and even though no one with any knowledge of lineage believed Frugoldus’ claim, the lie was almost worse than actually being a half-blood. However, every wizarding family had their own quirks and oddities, purebloods certainly no less, and thinking of their own dear aunt who liked to sing on roof-tops or who killed wild cats, the Slytherins knew Septimus was not his father. Being a Slytherin, Septimus Weasley might actually be the one to save an ancient line from extinction, something their camp as a whole could be very grateful for. So after the first moments of astonishment, the Slytherins welcomed their new snake warmly and with decided enthusiasm.

One less enthusiastic was Alrod. Septimus’ sorting might turn out for the better when he became rich and earned tonnes of money, but today it had cost them Alrod’s entire allowance and then some.


	3. George Weasley 1938

_George Weasley 1938_

As George, sat down with Vincent and Edgar, he swore he could  _feel_ Eugene Rosier disdainfully looking down his nose. Hence, he searched the table for his stuck-up roommate, and indeed he found the piggy, black-haired boy staring at him with his small eyes wide, his upper-lip curled up in aversion. 

George and Edgar had always agreed Rosier looked like a pig, he wasn’t fat per se, but just a bit chubby which really didn’t go well at all with his small stature, and by pompously turning his upturned nose even more up, he offered everyone a clear view of his nostrils, just like a pig. George still clearly remembered his own sorting two years ago, he’d been the very last student to be sorted and very much hoped to be in Slytherin, like his brother Septimus. When the Sorting Hat allowed him to join Salazar’s house – it had seemed oddly giddy to do so, even – most of the house had welcomingly applauded and Septimus had smiled at him warmly, making George’s heart swell up with pride. Only Rosier – well, Rosier, his female counterpart Walburga Black and Julius Flint, their shared pet – had sneered at him, and said, by means of welcome: “Shouldn’t you be scraping remains from other’s garbage? Hogwarts is no place for vermin, and Slytherin is least of all.” He’d felt intimidated back then, afraid all his housemates would see him like that and he’d be the laughing-stock of his year, despite being a pureblood. But it wasn’t long before he met Edgar Travers, a confident boy who’d assured George that Rosier was nothing but a big-headed dwarf that deserved to be ridiculed more than anyone else. They soon had become best friends.

So instead of feeling intimidated or insulted by his expression, George smiled and waved, and enjoyed the sight of Rosier’s reaction.

He spotted Septimus a bit further along the table, at the far end with the other seventh years. He was talking with Cedrella Black, she was Walburga Black’s cousin, but noticeably less obnoxious than her. As Septimus friend, she’d come over last summer, and appeared to be a very charming lady. Cedrella took pride in her blood and name, no doubt, but was smart and open-minded, and understood that in blood status a Weasley certainly wasn’t lesser than a Noble Black. She believed that rudeness was unbecoming for a lady, and had even won over a begrudging Frugoldus by the end of her stay. Alrod had once joked Septimus should be a gentlemen and ask her hand in marriage, but it wouldn’t be. Cedrella was already promised to a man a few years her senior – Abraxas Malfoy, George believed his name to be.

It was then that the grand double doors opened and the first years filed inside, led by the respectable Professor Dumbledore. George quickly skimmed the group for a bob of red hair, and grinned when he found his brother softly whispering to another boy who wasn’t really listening. Galieus was a very social person, and always got chatty when nerves got to him. George had their youngest brother down as a definite Gryffindor, he was a lot like Alrod, only with a tidbit less flamboyance. He had little with the pure-blood pride George and Septimus felt, and certainly was braver than George, who preferred to let Edgar do the fighting.

He applauded politely when “Avery, Gordon”, “Bulstrode, Irene”, “Carrow, Odessa” and “Fertego, Dorothy” were sorted into Slytherin, a little later followed by “Lestrange, Ardagan”, “Mulciber, Casper”, “Pitsberg, Edmund” and a “Riddle, Tom”, but he only paid attention when “Weasley, Galieus” took the seat. Despite being an obvious Gryffindor, the Sorting Hat was taking an extraordinarily long time with him, which made George wonder. His own sorting had taken very long as well, but not because he was that hard to sort, but rather because the Sorting Hat seemed to enjoy discussing the Houses with him. He’d spoken about George’s family members, he had been really fond of Septimus, the first Weasley to allow the hat to break with the ‘one house stigma’ many of the old families had and which the hat really regretted, as it prevented him of sorting purely on character as was his job. It was very probable Galieus was now having a similar conversation, as the hat’s final decision came as no surprise:

“GRYFFINDOR!”

George applauded as loudly as the table at the opposite side, for the moment throwing House loyalty overboard.


	4. Cedrella Black 1941

_Cedrella Black 1941_

“Of course, Miss Black, we will regard this matter with the highest urgency. We are glad there are still people who speak up, even though –” Cedrella’s mind drifted off. She vaguely wondered whether the officer in front her was simply intimidated by the Black name, or corrupted to the core, as he couldn’t possibly believe the garbage her sister was spraying. Incompetent teacher, overly ignorant in her own domain, should not be allowed to misguide the poor, naïve students any longer, all in all, professor Zeening was a complete and utter fraud, as were most of the teachers who opposed the poor, young Miss Black. Most likely her dear sister Charis had gotten a Poor on her Divination essay again.

It was then when she saw a face that she hadn’t seen for the past one and a half year. A friendly face. A freckled face. A face retorted in anger as he passed by, which was a rare sight in itself.

Leaving her sister’s side for the moment – why had she come along anyway? – Cedrella followed the large steps of Septimus Weasley. She made a very sophisticated and dignified sprint, and caught up with him as she joined him in the lift. They went down.

“What’s the matter, Sep?”

When he heard that name, he swirled around bewildered, to the women that came into the lift after him. It couldn’t be…

“Ceddie! It’s you! How are you, dear girl?”

Cedrella rose her eyebrows and smirked. “I thought  _I_ asked a question first. Why is my sweet Weasel-snake looking so thunderous today?” Through their shared years at Hogwarts they’d invented many puns and nick-names for each other. Weasel-snake was one of the more regular ones. After all, he was only in his sort.

As soon as the words left her lips, the scowl returned immediately. “Alrod died.” he grunted.

Cedrella directly began apologizing, but he wove her regrets away. “That’s not it. Of course, it had been a tragedy, but that’s not why I’m here. Well, not entirely.”

The lift halted with a jolt, almost knocking its occupants from their feet. Cedrella looked up at the floor they had landed, quirking an eye-brow. “Wizengamot?”

Septimus sighed wearily. “He left three children and a wife, who automatically claimed all his properties, as he had never bothered about the will, the bloody git.” He gave the memory of his brother a melancholic smile.

“She came from America; you see? Obscure background, no money, no solid magical education, certainly a marriage _you_ wouldn’t approve of – _I_ didn’t approve of it, in fact, I did object! But Alrod wouldn’t listen, of course, when has he ever listened to common sense.” Septimus lamented bitterly, “That’s how he died, in fact. Apparently American Muggles have this weird hobby of trying to ride untamed bulls and horses, to broadcast their bravery or something, and Alrod – don’t ask me why – thought he needed to do something similar with a graphorn… Ah well, anyhow, I appear to be right in the end, and the woman tried to sell the house in Lockerton and surrounding woodlands and move with the money back to America! Deceitful scum, it is, I’ll tell you that. And my mom and dad would’ve let her, they don’t think I should care so much…”

“They don’t quite agree?” she enquired. He was silent for a moment, not looking at her, working his jaw as he shook off his agitation and regained his calm. Slytherin had taught him a lot about keeping hold over his emotions, Cedrella had seen his progress over the years, but it was still not to the standards with which the likes of the Blacks had grown up; the fact she had noticed his effort regaining his composure, was a failing in the traditional books.

“They just misunderstand.” he explained, “They dislike what they see as a common, low argument over money, but it’s not just about the money. It’s about our standing in the wizarding world, I am trying to bring us all to a higher plane. I’m not doing this just for myself, but for them too, for George and Galieus, I’m doing this for the family.” He sighed. “They’re too kind. They don’t see that if we let Jenny do this, we’ll lose much of any respect we’ve left. A self-respecting, old pureblood family doesn’t let itself be trampled, you and I understand that. And if they are not willing to act, and do the unpleasant thing, I will do it for them. And they will thank me for it in the future.”

She smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure they will. Sometimes wizards from the other houses need a Slytherin to make them see sense. And it reflects well on you too, you know, to take up responsibility and defend your case. It shows initiative and cunning.”

He gave her a tight smile in return. “Yes. Thank you. But you’ll understand why I’m a bit… annoyed.”

A bit annoyed? His expression would’ve been ‘a bit annoyed’, were it on her uncle’s face, Septimus wasn’t supposed to show any anger or fierceness at all. She had known him as the mellow lad, the carefree lad, the if-it-doesn’t-concern-me-why-would-I-be-concerned type of person. Easy to talk with, always open to a game of chess or a bit of mischief, a relieve in the stuck-up Slytherin house. Never she’d expected to see him angry, although the calm, cold way he was it didn’t surprise her in the least.

“Anyhow, what’ve you been up to?” Cedrella said, wanting to know a bit more about Septimus’ life, “What do you do now for a living?”

“I’m helping an old wizard out in an antiquarian bookstore in London. He says I might take over in a few years’ time, which is nice, though it doesn’t make me as much as I hoped it would. The books are interesting, however, so I think I can’t complain.”

She nodded, that sounded nice enough, even though she didn’t really have much of a reference when it came to jobs. Her only job was to get married to a respectable, pureblood wizard, and live a luxurious life. She had been promised to Abraxas Malfoy since her Hogwarts years, an absolute swine, but luckily her parents had given her the liberty to betroth someone else if she found a man they deemed fit. She had always felt attraction to Septimus during her Hogwarts years, even though they were nothing but friends at the time, but now she just wondered if maybe she could convince her parents of the fruitfulness of a relation with the House of Weasley.

“You’re still with Emily Bark?”

He turned back in surprise, his hand already on the door that gave access to the courtroom.

“No, actually. As a matter of fact, we broke up last summer.” There was a hint of strain in his voice, making quite clear to Cedrella who’d broken up with whom. Ungrateful hag. She’d had one of the nicest, sweetest, cleverest men in Britain, and thrown him away. Well, her bad.

She gave him one of her warmest smiles. “Please visit us when you’re done with the case. Tell us how you won back your house and your land, and maybe about your findings from your books in the shop. I believe my parents would be very interested in your views on blood and family, I believe they would find your conviction to bring back glory to an ancient and noble House admirable. I find it admirable, anyhow. I would like for my parents to get to know you better, Mr. Weasley.”

Blushing, his face blank in wonder, Septimus entered court.


	5. George Weasley 1943

_George Weasley 1943_

Silk, chestnut brown hair soft as a curtain of silk. Light sea-green eyes as brilliant as sparkling gems. A long, rank body as if sculpted to perfection, that she moved with such majestic elegance that it rivalled that of a panther in the night, every turn and posture of her torso pure and sensual, as if she were the embodiment of life itself. He imagined holding that life in his arms, warm beneath his naked hands, feeling her chest calmly rise and collapse with every breath, her heart pumping fire through her veins, the small of her back, her hips, her breasts, her neck, all powerful and fragile at once as her face smiled in her Veela-like beauty…

“Do you believe it!?” George was roughly pulled away from his daydream of Amelia Greengrass by Edgar entering his dorm, coming back from prefect duties with the very witch George had been day-dreaming about. “Apparently, the mudblood found what the monster was! He will be getting an award for Special Services to the School!”

George sighed, not moving from his bed. Mudblood. The term had really gotten in sway the recent two years, introduced by the ever so  _eloquent_ Ellen Blackeye. Every now and then he caught himself using it, but he couldn’t help but think it was a rather crude and simple way of insulting people. His father would’ve hated it.

Edgar had had a dislike for Tom Riddle ever since Riddle had been invited in Slughorn’s ‘Slug Club’ and Edgar hadn’t. George’s friend had seen this as a serious, unjust breach of the unspoken ‘pure-blood first’ Slytherin code, and had taken personal offence. However, calling the fifth-year a mudblood was a novelty, as Riddle had always been seen as a least a half-blood and Travers had respected that. Up until now, apparently…

“I doubt very much Avery and Lestrange would befriend a mudblood.” George pointed out logically. Edgar snarled.

“Well, I doubt Hagrid has either the brain or the nerve to smuggle student killing spiders inside! I swear you, Riddle is a scam!”

“Hagrid? The half-giant?” George asked in surprise. There was a half riot when a half-giant was sorted into Gryffindor a few years ago. People would doubtlessly buy into it if he were to be blamed, but personally George doubted Hagrid would purposely harm others, least of all other outsiders like Myrtle. George’d always believed outsiders formed their own kind of hub.

“Yes, that Hagrid. Do you believe it?” Travers sneered as he pulled off one of his shoes.

“I’d rather expected it’d have something to do with Grindelwald.” George said truthfully. There had been many attacks on Muggles and Muggle-borns in mainland Europe the past two years, and George knew there were plenty of people in Britain who were hoping something similar would happen here. His very own brother, for example, who’d seriously considered travelling to Germany and joining up before Cedrella had beaten some sense in that thick, red Weasley head. Yep, George had really grown on the woman.

“But on the other hand, the attacks did stop, didn’t they?” George argued, coming back on the matter of the Hogwarts school monster.

Edgar raised his head to glare at him.

George snorted, and sat up. “Don’t let yourself get riled up by a fifth year. Truly, Edgar, you’re an adult wizard with a great perspective as Unspeakable. We’ll have our NEWTs in a few months, and then we’re free to go wherever we want. What do you care if Riddle gets some glory or not? It was not as if you were planning to stop the attacks yourself, were you?”

Edgar continued to ignore him, which usually meant George was right, but Edgar was too angry to admit it yet. George picked up his Potions book from the floor and attempted to read, letting Edgar blow off some steam. However, his thoughts kept straying to some witch who might or might not be in the Common Room this very moment…

“So, are you going to ask her out some day?” Edgar seemed to have let go of Riddle for now, and gone back to teasing George for his infatuation with Amelia. He needn’t to read George’s mind to know he was thinking about her, he simply always was. And his brother had married a Black, for Merlin, so the Weasleys couldn’t be _that_ humble.

But George just felt she was far out of his league and that he needed to make something of himself before even asking her for tea. Before even speaking to her. Frankly, Edgar found it thoroughly entertaining how the normally eloquent and level-headed George would be uttered speechless whenever Amelia was around.

“Someday, I will.” He promised, not necessarily intending to keep to that promise. Not believing the prettiest girl of the school would ever give simple George the light of day. Not knowing, that one day, she might actually marry him…


	6. Galieus Weasley 1950

_Galieus Weasley 1950_

Inside the hovel Galieus called his home it was less damp and cold than on the streets, but only by a little. Fortunately, the mist, that seemed to eternally veil the little coastal village of Thugscrook, was kept out, and the fire made the room a little more bearable, as well as the beautiful young lady that lay gracefully alongside him.

They watched each other’s faces, admiring, and stupidly grinning the whole time. He put a lock behind her ear, his finger lingering on her cheek, seeing her sky blue eyes lit up like sun flecks reflecting on the water. She – her name was Catherine Thellorp – in turn playfully twirled a thick, fiery curl around her finger, staring wonderingly at its uncommon shade. It was then that she asked, in a warm northern accent, “So what’s it like, Hogwarts? It must’ve been fantastic.”

He smiled at her, still amused at the way every aspect of his life that was so common to him seemed to inspire wonder and intrigue in the girl. Catherine came from a common wizard family, not by any stretch as old, well-known, powerful or even as rich as his. None of her family had even  _dreamt_ about going to Hogwarts, she had spent all her life amongst the grey houses of Thugscrook instead, only a hearing distance from the sea, where she worked as a shop girl in the small local magical grocery store. 

The reason Galieus had moved to this place was because of a job offer in ghost exorcisation, a short three years ago. Before that he’d lived with his parents in Weasley Cottage, only writing reports on the subject as a lowly Ministry employee. He had wanted to live on himself, like his brothers did. Like George, who had rebuilt White Cliff after leaving Hogwarts and made a life there, and Septimus, who lived in Lockerton with Cedrella and had already gotten his third son. But more than that, he’d longed for some field work, enough so to move to this corner of the kingdom and inhabit the cheapest shack he could find. Once he arrived, he was amazed to find he suddenly was one of the big guys, a man of stature, someone who’d studied at  _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ and one of the greatest magicians in town.

“It was,” he assured her, “most of the time. The castle was gigantic, with thousands of corners and hidden rooms to explore, there were portraits and paintings everywhere, we all slept in four-posters – and you know we weren’t as rich as the others, so to me they were almost twice as wide and ten times as soft as my bed at home. Then there were the meals, huge banquets thrice every day, with chicken, pork, beef, pudding, tea, pumpkin juice, even larger and more festive on holidays, and the great hall had a bewitched ceiling, so it looks like you can see the sky – and not like here in Thugscrook, but blue with white fluffy clouds and just majestic at night, with the stars. It was wonderful, for any child.”

She smiled sweetly, but then frowned and cocked her head. “That’s nice, but you said most of the time. Why don’t you tell me what wasn’t great about Hogwarts?”

Galieus sighed. “Silly, stupid stuff. You don’t want to hear me complaining about my childhood fears and bullies, now, do you?”

“But I do.” She sat up, holding the blankets before her torso and stroke both her hands through Galieus’ hair, firmly bringing their faces closer together.

“I want to know everything of you, silly, every bit and corner, _especially_ the silly and stupid stuff. Because that is part of who you are, and I care about you. I love you. _All of you._ ”

He gently brought her hands down from his face. “You know you shouldn’t love me,” he told her seriously “You’re very sweet and I would love you very, very much, but you’re too young, you know that. It wouldn’t be proper -”

“And you know I think that’s nonsense!” she spat, “This year I’ll become an adult, and that is old enough to marry and to have children! And don’t you dare not betrothing me this year, you can’t have your fun and then say I’m ‘too young for marriage’. Now,” she retook his face and pecked him on his nose. “Tell me about your childhood monsters and school bullies, because I need to understand you when I marry you.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “I promise I won’t laugh.” He lay back down and sighed deeply.

“Alright,” he conceded, “here it comes. You see, there are four houses at Hogwarts, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin. Gryffindor and Slytherin traditionally have a bit of rivalry between each other, and I was in Gryffindor.” He let his fingers slide along the curves of her naked shoulder. Funny, how a shoulder actually was much more complex in shape than how he imagined it. “Two of my brothers, however, are in Slytherin, something which caused a bit of a hassle, actually, because it is very seldom that someone from a Gryffindor family is placed in Slytherin. Anyhow, in my year, there was a group of Slytherins that always creeped everyone out a bit, they let no one get close, they got all the high marks, most of them from filthily rich – but then really, _filthily rich_ ,” she smiled, “old families, all snobbish and well, they creeped everyone out.”

“They creeped everyone out, or they creeped _you_ out?” Catherine asked innocently.

“But there did happen some creepy things, there at Hogwarts!” Galieus came in his defence, “Like when I was sixteen, _when I was your age_ , there was a monster at Hogwarts, petrifying unsuspecting students in the corridors, and even killing a girl in the bathroom! And there was a time in my fourth year, a Hufflepuff boy _accidently_ drank poisoned pumpkin juice; that was real scary, he fell to the floor and screamed and never really was the same after. The culprit of that one was never found, but I always suspected that troupe of Slytherins, there always was this connection in my head, I don’t know why, but I always thought there was something wrong there. I was always afraid of them.”

She kissed him on the forehead. “If there was any truth behind it or not, you’re safe with me. They won’t find you here.”

Galieus snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re going to protect me against dark wizards?”

“What dark wizard in his right mind would follow some poor Gryffindor boy to _Thugscrook_?”

He laughed. “There is a truth in that.”

They kissed once more before they both started the day.


	7. Bilius Weasley 1954

_Bilius Weasley 1954_

His father had a one-track-mind. Although he did pursue several things during his live – he’d  _obsessed_ over several things in his life – he’d had never more than one goal – obsession – at the time.

Take the case over Uncle Alrod’s inheritance. For months on end he’d been non-stop pursuing his sister-in-law, scraping evidence together, bringing up every little detail that could help him win his case,  _so absorbed_ he didn’t even  _notice_ the butterflies twirling in his stomach. At least, not until the case was done and over with (he’d won); before the end of that same year Septimus and Cedrella were husband and wife.

But instead of thinking of children Septimus had already found a new engrossment: it were the years Grindelwald’s ideals became commonly known all over Britain, and Septimus followed these new developments with an unequalled passion and commitment, boosting and taking advantage of the new believes wherever he could. However, Grindelwald was eventually defeated by Dumbledore, and the hierarchy he stood for reduced to nothing but a dream; not even one year later Bilius was born.

It kind of seemed the story of their life.

Now, Septimus was the proud father of three freckled, red-headed sons, each of them two years older than their younger brother. Bilius was the eldest, and the most boisterous. Godfrey was the middle, and the most calculating. Arthur was the youngest, and the most bothersome…

“But _mum_!!! We _need_ to go to Frannie’s, what will people think?” Septimus, Cedrella, Bilius, Godfrey and Arthur stepped out of the fireplace into the Leaky Cauldron, while Bilius resumed his whining, hoping for a visit to Franne Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour – or more precisely: hoping for ice cream. “We always have ice-cream when we’re in Diagonally! They’ll be suspicious, think something is going on… something _sinister_!!! They’ll think we’re avoiding people, that we have _murdered someone_ … Then they’ll question Frannie, and she’ll say –”

“That nothing of the sort has happened and that decent, mature wizards shouldn’t listen to a bad-behaved child!” His mother resolutely cut in. “And you know perfectly well why you’re not allowed ice-cream anymore, _both of you_ , after last time…”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Godfrey protested. “It was Bill who fed the Puffskeins the ice-cream, I didn’t do a thing!”

“Godfrey, don’t get into this. I _saw_ you standing near the pet shop _with_ your ice-cream.” Cedrella told him sternly.

Godfrey now had tears in his eyes, putting up a quite good act in Bilius’ opinion. “But Bill  _forced_ me to come along!”

Bilius gaped at his younger brother, not believing he was selling him out.

“ _What!?_ I can’t believe this. Bill, when we get home you go _straight_ to your room, for blaming your younger brother!”

“But mum, I –”

“I don’t care you didn’t know; we’ve had this discussion before! Be silent, _now_!”

Bilius grinded his teeth and glared at Godfrey, who stuck out his tongue at him. Stupid brat. It was his idea. Once they got home, he’d teach him a firm lesson on telling on other people, that was, if their mother would ever let him out of sight again.

Their father was already standing at the entrance of Diagon Alley.

“Hey, where’s Arthur?” Godfrey suddenly said.

Their father’s eyes became wider and wider as he looked at his wife, who looked just as worried, then he stormed through the pub, searching under chairs and tables, but finding nothing remotely looking like a red-headed son. When he reached the Muggle end of the pub, he looked down the street. He swore lowly, making Bilius snigger.

“I’m going to look outside, he’s most likely heading to Charing Cross. You wait here with Bill and Godfrey, okay? I’ll come back soon as I find him.” With a soft tinkling of the bell, he disappeared through the door.

The moment he was gone, Bill burst out laughing. “ _Bilius Phineas Weasley_ !” hearing his full name, Bill stopped at once. Who called their child ‘Bilius Phineas’, anyway? “Your brother is missing, this is  _not_ funny!”

Beside him, Godfrey smirked, and stomped him hard in the arm. “Ouch! What was that for!?” He shoved his brother hard, but before any more fighting could ensue, Cedrella caught him in a grip more resembling an iron clamp than a human hand.

“Bill, don’t shove your brother!!! You’re the oldest, you’re supposed to be the responsible one!”

“But he began! He hit me!”

“You are much stronger than him and you know that! And Godfrey,” Godfrey tried to sway his mother with a charming smile, but for now, she was unswayable, “that was uncalled for.”

“What was uncalled for?” he asked innocently. Cedrella sighed audibly, but decided not to respond to that.

They waited for another twenty minutes, and Cedrella began to feel worried. Just then, the fireplace lit up green again, and a man with long, light brown hair tied up in a bun and flamboyant bordeaux robes stepped out, followed by a woman and a boy with identical platinum blond hair. The woman caught her eye, and grimaced, before the man noticed her too and approached her with an overconfident smirk. Cedrella groaned inwardly. Perfect, just perfect!

“Well, good morning, my dear Cedrella, how’s life treating you today?” He looked her straight in the eyes, blatantly ignoring the children.

“I’m just fine Mr Malfoy. The weather is good, so I and Septimus thought we’d take the children on a trip to Diagon Alley.” she answered curtly, subtly empathizing ‘Septimus’ and ‘the children’. Now this conversation at least wasn’t just uncomfortable for her, but for Mr Perfect Popular Pompous Pure-Blood as well; as she was pleased to observe his self-assured smirk turning a bit pained. 

Still, their discomfort was nothing compared to the hurt and anger Charlotte was likely hiding.  Cedrella looked at the woman. She appeared appropriately displeased, but it was still well within the emotional range  upper-class etiquette proscribed. Her face was a taut, beautiful, indifferent  mask.  Cedrella weighed asking Charlotte to her day and involving her in the conversation, giving Mrs Malfoy an opportunity to steer it in a  more neutral direction .  However, her doing so might be interpreted by the other woman as rubbing in Abraxas’ continued attraction for her, especially as Mr Malfoy himself clearly was not bothered at all with flirting with another  woman in Charlotte’s presence.  Not to mention  Cedrella had already rebuffed Malfoy’s flirtations (and even a marriage proposal!) a thousand times over these past thirteen years, and both she and the Malfoy’s had children – who were currently glaring daggers at  the other family. That Abraxas still somehow seemed convinced he had a chance with Cedrella, despite her being more than happily married, was nothing short of pathetic.

“That’s good to hear.” he nodded congenially, as if he was actually enjoying to hear family life as a Weasley still suited her well. “Nonetheless, I though perhaps you’d appreciate a change of company – what do you say of lunch, a cup of tea, dinner? Just to step out of the great responsibilities of motherhood, especially in a… _less_ fortuitous house hold,  such as Weasley’s… It must be so tedious for you, and so exhausting – really, us old families are just not made for menial chores. My wife and I shouldn’t _think_ of having to raise three children, and that with no House-Elves at all!” he clucked his tongue sympathically, as if he could sincerely not imagine how she could bear through it all.

“So what do you think? Why don’t you let yourself be pampered on my estate for once, as a royal daughter of the House of Black is due? I extended the grotto recently; I don’t believe you’ve ever seen the new fountain chamber. The mermaid statues are charmed to sing most pleasantly when anyone comes near –”

At that moment, the doorbell erupted in a loud tinkling as a man and a little boy stepped in. The boy held an odd contraption in his hand, most resembling a small sort of box.

The man held Malfoy’s gaze, unfazed, as he greeted him with a curt nod. “Malfoy.”

Malfoy grimaced, before he hissed back. “Weasley.”

The tall, ginger man stepped around him to join his wife. “He was near the station, found him with the Tracker-Charm, remind me to thank your mother for those.”

Abraxas sneered. “Lost your child, Weasley?”

“Yes, inquisitive fellow, this one is. A joy in our lives, truly, but can be a handful every now and then, at least we’ve now put a Tracker-Charm on him before we left so he wouldn’t get lost.”

“Pity.” Malfoy huffed.

“Our Lucius,” Mrs Malfoy drawled loudly, miffed with the amount of attention Cedrella was getting, “would never walk away. He is an angel, and might I add, is showing all the signs to become an extraordinarily competent wizard. We met the Minister the other day, he also is very fond of the boy, _very_ fond.”

“Lovely.” Septimus commented dryly, and then turned to his family again. “Shall we go?”

“Mummy, look what I found!” Little Arthur called out, clenching his mother’s robes. He held up the little box, and performed a peculiar thumb movement. A flame sprang from the silver object.

“Ah,” Abraxas said with faked interest. “So _that’s_ how you dig up your interior. You let your sons steal Muggle objects as decoration!”

Septimus paled, though his ears turned red. “Our children do  _not_ steal.” he hissed.

“So he picks it up from the pavement? How… nostalgic.” The little brat called Lucius smirked.

Bilius couldn’t hold his mouth any longer, and shouted out in all fury his young body could bare. “Shut this nonsense! Our family is  _not_ poor, thank you very much, and has twice the talent and the magic that  _your_ family will ever get!!!”

Abraxas snarled at the nuisance at his feet. “Teach your little brat some manners, Weasley, if you know what’s good for him. And for the other…” He scowled at Arthur and snorted. “Wizards should know their place in the world, and they should know how to stay away from those  _tramps_ calling themselves Muggles.  _Picking rubbish up from the street_ , see what you get from your  _blood-traitorous ways_ !” And so, without another word, he strode past them, his silk robes dramatically bellowing behind him. Mrs Malfoy sent them one last scornful glare, her mouth twisted in vengeful glee. “Wait till this gets out, Black. You will be wondering, who’s made the better choice.” With that, she let her child through the gate, following her husband’s steps.

Septimus watched their theatrical departure with an angry weariness. “Arthur, never go out to the Muggle world again. Will you?”

“But the Muggle world is so much fun! We never go there! Look what I’ve found!”

Septimus sighed. Bilius was still fuming from this encounter with the Malfoys, Godfrey looked about to snatch the silver box out of his brother’s hands, but when it came down to it – when it really,  _actually_ came down to it – Arthur was the most bothersome of them all.


	8. George Weasley 1955

_George Weasley 1955_

George Weasley’s life was perfect.

The soft summer light was perfect. The shining white sheets were perfect. His wife’s long brown locks that had freed themselves from the knot on her head and fell down along her beautiful, red face were perfect, like a wave in still water, kissing the shore and bouncing back as he gently stroke through them. Beneath that, little, tiny hands, still too fresh and vulnerable to try and pull the dark brown waves. A chubby face, squinted eyes, hair still bit wet, no matter what he looked like, he would always be perfect in his eyes. His boy. Anthony. No matter what.

With his nose, he parted her hair like a curtain, reaching for her hot cheeks and planting a kiss on it. She giggled, and returned it, fully, mouth on mouth. His Amelia. Once Amelia Greengrass, beautiful, unreachable, undreamable Amelia, Slytherin’s purest flower, now his Amelia, red, sweaty, a new-born Anthony in her arms. Loving him. Loving their only child and heir. Perfect.

They had agreed they would both choose a name for the child, independently of the other. Amelia chose Anthony, after her grandfather Antonius Selwyn, and naturally George chose Alrod, as a tribute to his dead older brother.

A dead brother, and a dead grandfather. Together that made Anthony Alrod, as George already gave the child his last name and, truth to be told, much of Anthony’s inheritance would come from his mother’s side.

Anthony Alrod Weasley. Their little prince. The special one; he was the first brown-haired Weasley to be born in four generations. He would be spoiled, that was for sure. And a great wizard, once and for all proving the magical qualities of the Weasley family. Whether that would be in Slytherin or Gryffindor, or even Ravenclaw – actually anything except Hufflepuff, no, in Hufflepuff too, he’d be perfect, no matter what. With Amelia as his mother, himself as his father, enough older uncles and cousins to learn from, he would be perfect.

Their perfect pure-blood prince. No matter what.


	9. Godfrey Weasley 1961

_Godfrey Weasley 1961_

In an abandoned corner at Hogwarts, at the end of that school year, two students, a second and a fourth year, were having a private conversation. Now wasn’t this an uncommon sight in itself, it was the combination of the colours on their robes that was. In fact, it made the occurrence indeed a rare one; the older boy was folded in a fierce red and gold, while the younger wore a simmering silver and green. Only the colour of the tuft on their head made the pair a matching pair: they both had Weasley red locks.

“You feel embarrassed of our little brother?” Bilius, the red and gold one, rose one eyebrow accusingly.

Godfrey’s cheeks shone bright red. “It’s not that I… disapprove of him or something,” he stammered, “I know I’ve no right to judge him! But it’s just… you know it is wrong what he’s doing, and so does  _he_ : mum told us  _so_ often, we shouldn’t mingle with those below us, but he just… He just goes and mucks it all up! And it may very well be that she and dad don’t want us to tell him off on it, as we’re his brothers and stuff, but  _we’ll_ be the ones looked down upon,  _the whole family_ will be looked down upon!!! How am I supposed to explain that  _in Slytherin_ !?”

Bilius sighed in defeat. “Alright, you have a point. But how do you suggest we do it? Dad’s tried for years, and you know how much that did…”

“Mum and dad tried to give him another hobby, I’m planning on something else entirely.” Oh, _that_ had Bilius’ interest. “I want to give him a real _reason_ to despise Muggles, I mean: convince him, we don’t really know much of their world, and neither does he – not the argument they’re barbaric, or less developed, we know that won’t work, he’s much too impressed by their contraptions to believe that kind of thing, so we’ll need something different… Any ideas?”

Bilius frowned, racking his mind for any weapons he could use in the battle against Arthur’s Muggle-mania. “I don’t know… Dumb doesn't work… Dangerous? I know muggles can be dangerous, what about those witch burnings? They do seem to hate us, even though they don’t even know we  _exist_ –”

“Why is that in the first place?” Godfrey asked critically, “There must be a good reason for that whole secrecy act.”

“Yeah. Bet we could scare him off with stories of the witch burnings?” Bilius frowned, “He already heard those, though.”

Godfrey’s eyes gleamed enthusiastically as a sly grin formed on his mouth. “Then we need new stories. Scary stories. True stories, Muggle-stories, that only the scholars on the subject know. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Bilius gave a lopsided grin. “Doubt it. I’m thinking of darling Jenny at the moment.”

Godfrey rolled his eyes. “Guess we can’t all have the brains. I was talking about asking Professor Fawley! If she knows all about Muggles, she  _must_ know some creepy stories about them!”

“Well, we’ll see. I still have to keep up with my Quidditch practises –”

“Bill!” Godfrey hissed, “Our dignity is at stake here!”

Bilius chuckled. “Dignity, of course, of course.”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough! For all we know, he’ll become a blood-traitor, _for real_!”

“Butterbeer?” he joked, immune to his younger brother’s glare. Though, not wanting to antagonize him further, he conceded. “I’ll go to her classroom next free period, and ask her _if_ and _how_ Muggles can be dangerous. Why we need to hide. Indeed, you’re right, there must be some reason, it can’t be just the witch burnings.”

“I’m counting on you, Bill.”

He smiled warmly. “And you can, you little ferret. I promise.”

…

They found each other again in a silent corner of the library. Bill told Godfrey about the things he discovered from Fawley, after which they were both silent for a while, staring at the rich carpets, neither knowing an appropriate response to the ghastly truth of Muggle history.

It was Bill who first found the words to express his concern, “You really think we should tell this to Artie? I mean, he’s only eleven, he doesn’t need to know about this.”

Godfrey set his jaw, “He does. He  _must_ know about this, even as it’s only for his own safety. I can’t believe no one told us before.”

“But he’s so innocent.”

“ _That innocence may lead to his death!_ ” Godfrey suddenly hissed intensely, trying desperately to keep his voice down. He averted his eyes from those of his brother, swallowing his temper and trying to regain his calm. “I know you only want to protect him, Bill, but you won’t do that by keeping this from him. He _needs_ to stay away from Muggles, like the rest of the wizarding world, and he needs to know _why_.” He started picking at his own palm, as he usually did when he was emotionally at a loss. “Or he’ll just blame us.” His nails dug into his flesh, he studied the little red moons they left.

Bill looked at him, deep in thought himself. Arthur couldn’t make any more escapades to the Muggle world, that much was clear. Six million. Six million deaths for… nothing. Because they were a bit different in some to Bill ambiguous way. Because they were Jewish. Many more because their politicians told them to. A worldwide massacre that only ended because one party developed a bomb that could wipe an entire city of the map. Let alone the wizarding community. If they’d known, twenty years ago, about wizards, would their kind still exist?

Muggles didn’t respond nicely to other sorts of beings. What would happen if they captured Arthur, and discovered he had magic? Bill’s stomach dropped at the thought. Without a wand, he would’ve had no way of defending himself against their guns, their little experiments. Any wizard, who fell in Muggle hands, was beyond hope. And there were so many of them. They had so much more than wizards. Their world was a millions time larger, and now they were even intruding the wizarding world, through Mudbloods, and that stupid, unjust fact wizards had to hide from them, always take them into account, for fear of their own extinction.

It was bloody unfair.  _They_ were the more powerful sort.

“You’re right. He needs to know. He needs to know all of it.”

Godfrey nodded, “Good we’ve come to an agreement.”

“Yeah,” Bill said. “Good to know at least _we_ are together in this.”


	10. Arthur Weasley 1961

_Arthur Weasley 1961_

 

“Goodbye, mum! We’ll see you next Christmas!” Godfrey promised cheerfully to his mother, as he gave her a composed yet affectionate hug before their departure. Cedrella smiled, but her eyes wandered to her youngest son again, to whom she’d moments ago muttered soothing words as he was sobbing in her neck and who had just wiped his tears and blown his nose, standing between his brothers, pulling himself together.

“Do look out for Arthur, will you?” she asked. They all expected Arthur would do fine once he started making friends and entirely forget his homesickness before the end of the week, but if the first year needed something, it was good to know he’d have two older brothers looking out for him. Godfrey replied with a smile and a nod.

She sighed and let loose for Godfrey’s shoulders, and she and Septimus waved their troublesome trio goodbye as they boarded the train.

Once they had disappeared from their parents’ sight, Bilius declared he’d leave them to go find where his own friends were sitting, and Godfrey too longed to see Rabastan and Alwinus again. They’d been writing over the summer; Rabastan’s younger brother, Rodulphus, was to attend Hogwarts this year as well, so he’d be sharing classes with Arthur. Though Godfrey doubted they would ever be friends: despite his recent conversion from Muggle-mania to Muggle-phobia, Arthur wasn’t much of a Slytherin.

“Arthur, I’m going to look for my friends as well. Try find a compartment with some other first years, I promise you, you’ll make friends in no time. Just don’t talk about Muggle things too much, will you?”

Arthur frowned in worry. “What if they start talking about those things to  _me_ ? I mean, you can ask who their parent are, but you can’t  _see_ if someone is a proper wizard or not.”

Godfrey snorted. “If they’re Muggleborn, just ignore them and talk to someone else.” he advised, “About Quidditch. Or if they keep bothering you, you come to me.” His face lit up with a malicious grin as he laid a brotherly hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “We’re Weasleys, you and I. And half Blacks to top. We’re talented, intelligent pure-bloods, we can handle a few Muggles thinking too highly of themselves. Even  _if_ we both have a bragging, boasting, mule-headed ape for a brother.”

Arthur nodded, encouraged by his brother’s words, and chuckled at Godfrey’s image of Bilius. Dear Bill never was too subtle, something he and their mother had had countless discussions on in the past.

So Arthur parted ways with his brother, and went on the search for either an empty or a with other first-years filled compartment. Dragging his trunk behind him and peeking through the various doors as he went down the aisle, he didn’t watch where he was heading and bumped into an older student coming hastily from the other way.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, but his apologies were drawn out by the vicious complaints from the other boy, “You dim, stumbling, nitwit! Watch where you going, will you? First years shouldn’t be…”

His voice stopped as the older boy had straightened himself and got a good look at the boy in front of him. And  _he_ of  _him_ . “Well, that explains it, I guess,” Lucius Malfoy sneered as he raised his eyebrows, “It’s the miniature Weasley!”

The corners of his mouth turned up disparaging sneer. “The aspirant Muggle of the sty, aren’t you? Nicking their trash, cherishing it like a treasure, hoping one day to be just like them. Though I can understand, I guess, if I lived in that shack of yours anything would seem glamorous in comparison.”

Arthur’s ears shone red in embarrassment and his eyes avoided to look Lucius’ way, but a defiant frown was drawn on his face. “We are not poor. And I don’t do that… not anymore…”

Malfoy laughed at him openly. “Then what made you change your way? Do even the Muggles not want you anymore?”

The red-head’s frown deepened, but he kept his mouth shut.

“It was to be expected, of course. Eventually, who would keep up with a miserable, slimy, boot-licking, –”

“We’re not bootlickers!” Arthur exclaimed, his fists clenched at his sides, “We are not as rich as you, and we have had difficult times in the past, but we’ve always been a proud and self-respecting family, something _you_ cannot say!” He finally snapped his head around to look Malfoy in the eye, but jumped back as he was met with a drawn wand.

Lucius narrowed his eyes in a displeased manner. “If you are referring to my father’s fondness of your mother, my father is a fool for ever liking that slut. She traded herself, her dignity and that of House Black for that pathetic excuse of a father of yours, and while your grandparents might have accepted him as son-in-law, that doesn’t mean he’s now a member of high society, or any society for that matter. Most respectable households still despise their marriage, and therefore, you.”

Arthur stepped back from Malfoy’s suddenly hateful words, but most of all, for the still dangerous wand between his eyes, and its venomous holder.

“You better know your place, Weasley,” he whispered lowly, “Which means, in your case, you have to be _very_ careful. Or soon you might find yourself crossing paths with the wrong type of person.”

He nodded quickly, terrified Malfoy would hex him then and there. But Malfoy seemed content with frightening the little boy, smirked in his victory, and turned to leave the shaking first year alone in the corridor, his robes bellowing behind him in a theatrical manner.


	11. Molly Prewett 1966

_Molly Prewett 1966_

 

Arthur seemed unusually distracted that evening. Normally, the kind Ravenclaw would listen carefully to her and pick up the subject easily – he was very bright, it really was only because of Professor Slughorn he needed extra tutoring in potions – yet today she needed to repeat her explanations thrice before the idea got through. It was as if he just wasn’t there with his head, as if he was still contemplating something else, figuring something out. Of course she was annoyed by this, but more than that, it spiked her curiosity – whatever he was thinking off, it had to be fascinating. He always had such eccentric ideas!

She didn’t know what won over in the end, annoyance or curiosity, but whatever it was it caused her to say, “Arthur, you are not listening to me. What is on your mind?”

Arthur jolted, but quickly hid his nerves behind that warm, open smile of his, that always flipped over some organ near her stomach. “Oh, I’m so sorry Molly. My thoughts just wandered away with me. Forgive me. Please, carry on.”

She smiled softly at him, but he still hadn’t answered her question. “Arthur. What is on your mind?”

His eyes widened, and he swallowed. She clearly was on to something more than some creative knick-knack he’d thought up, and her resolve only grew. She had to find out what it was. “Nothing, Molly. Really, nothing to bother you with. I’ll pay attention, I promise.”

She crossed her arms sternly. “Arthur, tell me, what is it? If you can’t keep your attention with me then I would like to hear why.”

Arthur’s ears were set on fire. Then he blurted out, “You’ll always have my attention, I can’t keep it away from you.” It were clearly words not meant to be said, as his ears seemed to become even redder.

Molly’s face now became a deep red too, thoroughly flustered by the awkwardly escaping words. Arthur always was so sweet, always praising her and giving her compliments on the most random things. He always knew how to surprise her, he saw beautiful things in her she had never even noticed.

“What I meant to say was...” he stopped and inhaled deeply, avoiding her eye while he scraped up the courage to say what he wanted to the formidable woman - not girl, woman, for she had the power of a roaring lioness. Molly slightly leant in, listening eagerly.

He finally looked up, his face a steely and taut mask, as his mother’s family had taught him, and leaning on the Weasley steadiness he’d graciously inherited from his father’s side. Looking bravely in her fierce dark eyes, not willing to show his fear that she would shatter his hopes, his dreams in moments. When it came out he sounded grave, almost angry, to his great surprise.

“Will you go out to Hogsmeade with me?”

For one terrible moment her smile disappeared, rendering her face unreadable. She wouldn’t laugh at him, Molly wasn’t like that, but Arthur fearfully thought she was going to yell at him, loudly, how he dared to ask such a ridiculous thing of her. Then the mortifying idea came to his mind she was more likely to apologize, that she liked him as a friend, or even worse, as a younger brother she took care over, as she was a year above him. Or perhaps she would be confused by his question, after all, why would such a mature, powerful witch ever consider funny, clumsy Weasley an actual romantic interest? Merlin no, he’d have to explain to her what he meant, and then there was no way she would ever say yes! He was always embarrassing her, after all. If she was confused at all, of course, he’d never specified a romantic date, had he, she would think he’d want to go as friends, propose to bring people along with them, want to -

“Yes, I’d love that.” She was smiling brightly. She didn’t understand he meant it as a date, did she?

“You don’t understand!” he yelled out frantically, his cool mask transforming into one of frenzied panic. “I-I… didn’t mean as friends, I meant… I actually want… I like you, I like you very much, Molly, I like you when you’re happy, but also when you’re angry, and I love how your eyes gleam when you want something, I admire you, you are the greatest witch a wizard can wish for, and I’m hoping so much, you would go out with me on a date.” he stammered. After taking a gasp of breath, he added, “Romantically, I mean.”

She still beamed just as brightly, but just a bit redder than before. “I knew what you meant. And I’d love to. You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met, truly, and you’re brilliant, and yet you don’t let anyone walk over you. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

She meant it. She understood he actually had a romantic interest in her and still wanted to go out with him. She said, she would _love_ to go out with him! His heart was cheering in joy, his brain was ecstatic, all rational thinking shoved somewhere far in the back, Arthur was so happy he knew only one way to respond. He didn’t stop to be nervous, or to think it through. He just did. He shot up and kissed Molly full on the mouth.

Molly was thunderstruck when out of a sudden Arthur’s lips collided with hers. It was only when Arthur stumbled back, his eyes wide and apologetic, she realized what he had been doing. He actually kissed her. Arthur had kissed her! And while he clearly hadn’t been planning on doing so just yet, she discovered she rather enjoyed his clumsy, deeply hidden but also deeply felt passionate side.

She smiled mischievously, only enhancing his nerves. “I do hope you can do more than that.”

Nothing could wipe away Arthur’s anxiety away faster, and a broad, anticipating grin appeared on his face like magic. Both secret crushes out in the open, all bonds of shyness and uncertainty burnt and broken, it was their second kiss that counted.


	12. Fabian Prewett 1971

_Fabian Prewett 1971_

 

The brothers sat lazily in their little, dusty office, feet propped up on their shared desk and chatting up the blond, fine-looking new secretary who had conveniently passed their door on her way to Mr. Hitchin. Gideon made a joke that probably was a bit  _too_ suggestive, as Fabian smiled apologetically to her while twirling his wand carelessly around his fingers, hoping to win this one point over his brother.

As always, the call of duty came loud, shrill and unexpected.

“ _Dark wizard in Goether Lane, Hampsfort, shooting wild Blasting Curses! - Dark wizard in Goether Lane, Hampsfort, shooting wild Blasting Curses! - Dark wizard in Goether Lane, Hampsfort, shooting wild Blasting Curses!_ ”

“ _Dark wizard in Goether Lane, Hampsfort, shooting wild Blasting Curses! - Dark wizard in Goether Lane, Hampsfort, shooting wild Blasting Curses! - Dark wizard in Goether Lane, Hampsfort, shooting wild Blasting Curses!_ ”

The pretty blondine jumped back in shock as two ear-splitting alarm clocks went off simultaneously, almost losing her grip on the report in her arms. The two brothers fumbled out of their chairs, checked their wands and grabbed their brooms as was pounded into them by their instructors, before hitting their respective alarms on the head. Immediately they stopped screaming as the Portkey was activated, and the twins were whisked away.

They landed amidst panicked screams and flashes of wands and towering columns of flames lightening the otherwise dark, quiet evening. It was a suburb on the edge of a small seemingly Muggle town, several houses were on fire of which at least two were entirely collapsed and the street was littered with rubble, holes and cracks. People were cowering or running from the chaos as more Hit Wizards popped up around them, wands out and scanning the area for any Dark Wizards or Witches.

A man with long hair, a wide, dark cloak and sturdy black boots stood in the damp field behind the houses, looking at the Hit Wizards but his wand raised high at the sky. None of them could see his face through the smoke and the darkness as they whipped their wands out and went after him. He yelled an unintelligible incantation and a green flash sprang like fireworks out of his wand, lighting the sky a sickening green, before ducking away from the several curses the Hit Wizards fired at him as they sped through some Muggle’s back garden. Fabian caught sight of Radley Davis to his left, their trusted mentor and the Captain of the Squad, who swiped his arm down to send another bright white curse at the suspected culprit, but as they came nearer the wizard was nowhere to be seen.

Davis swore profusely while taking in deep gasps of air. “Disapperated! Just our luck. Creating a mess and expecting the Ministry to clean up after them. Ruddy scum!” Fabian looked over the wide fields in front of them, momentarily ignoring the people yelling and crying, the dogs barking and his Captain ranting behind them, catching breath and pondering on the odd quiet on the other side of the smoke. The landscape was a tint darker than the sky above, though both were now tinted with green. There were small, flickering lights in the distance, a Muggle farm, or a Muggle road.

“Mervin, Shafiq, Jordan, gather the Muggles and inform Obliviator Headquarters immediately.” Davis ordered behind them, “And get someone from the MWEC! Smith, Prewett and Prewett, come with me to assess the damage.”

Gideon had been glancing behind them, at the thing the perpetrator had shot in the air. It was a large, green light in the shape of a skull with a snake coiling out of its mouth. Plenty flashy and spontaneous, Gideon thought approvingly, only the imagery used was a bit cliche. If only he hadn’t blown up half a neighbourhood and utterly shattered the Statute of Secrecy, it would’ve been a nice way to make a statement.

Smith too looked at the skull, his large, rough hands on his hips. “Well, that’s new.” he said, “But we can’t expect a thug to have taste, I guess. Do you think it  _means_ something?” Gideon shrugged.

They skimmed the ruined cars and destroyed houses, trying to identify the bodies and questioning some of the less hysterical Muggles if they’d seen anyone else beside the wizard who’d escaped. This was one of the most tedious parts of the job, as the Muggles who’d witnessed a wizard attack would tend to be afraid, confused and even aggressive and it was impossibly hard to get a comprehensible answer out of them. But it had to be done, since they had to know if there were any wizards involved before leaving the situation to the obliviators and Muggle authorities.

After a fruitless search on the street Fabian, his patience wearing thin, decided to enter one of the undamaged houses at the other side of the road, hoping he might find there someone who wasn’t shocked into silence, or in denial of what they saw, or running away as soon as they caught sight of him.

He opened the front door with a simply ‘Alohomora’, and went through the hall straight to the kitchen, looking for the residing family. It turned out not all that difficult to locate them, for as soon as he stepped into the room, he needed to narrowly dodge a heavy frying pan.

A tall, young man – probably around the same age as him – strategically positioned just beside the door against the kitchen counter, stood there with frantic eyes and a large, steel piece of cooking equipment that certainly could’ve killed an adult wizard.

The wizard quickly expelled the dangerous object out of the young man’s hand, which landed with an almighty clank. The taller man winched as he saw the look of absolute fury in his face.

“DON’T TRY TO KILL ME, YOU FOOL!!!”

Yes, all magic and duelling aside, Molly wasn’t the only one who could make a man piss his pants by yelling at him.

Fabian took a deep, calming breath before continuing through clenched teeth. “The man is gone, the Muggle authorities are on their way, I only need you to answer a few questions. Think you can manage that?”

The man nodded numbly.

“Do you know of any witches or wizards living in this neighbourhood?” he asked as he pulled out a small notebook and quill to write down the answers the man might give. This information was mostly of use to Aurors and the Wizengamot, or sometimes to the various institutes that kept the wizarding world away from Muggle eyes.

“What?” the man breathed wheezily, trying to scramble farther back into the kitchen cabinets even though he already had his back pressed to it. “What are you talking about!?” He began to sniff quietly, “There was a man, with a stick, j-just like you have,” he eyed the wand warily, “and he began shooting flashes of light, e-everything exploded, as if there were bombs everywhere, t-the house of the Jeffersons is an-n-nihilated, e-everyone of them was inside...”

“Scratch that.” Fabian interrupted curtly, “We’re in a bit of a hurry. Did you see anyone with the man who attacked this neighbourhood?”

The man shook his head.

“Anything other out of the ordinary happened here lately?”

“W-who was that man!? _Everything exploded!!!_ ”

“ _I know. Answer the question._ ” Fabian did his best to regain his temper, but the whole situation was trying on his patience. Everywhere where he approached a family, the Muggles would scream – as if he was some kind of disturbing monster! – or hurl insults or accusations – as if _he_ was to blame for the attack! – or, far too often, attempt to knock him out cold, all for just being a wizard. If this was normal behaviour for them, he could understand Arthur’s worries very well. His brother-in-law believed that Muggles would try to eliminate all wizards once they knew of their existence, and though Fabian wasn’t as assured of their proclaimed ingenuity, he could see them wanting to. Anyhow, their ungratefulness was seriously off putting.

“N-no.” The man seemed to have found his nerve back again, as he frowned in thought. “You said wizard. You’re saying, he was a wizard!? A-and, are you a wizard to? Was that magic, t-that… that...”

“Yes, it was.” Fabian said tersely. “And we need to find out if there were any other wizards wounded in this fight.”

“What, you’re serious?...” Fabian finished scribbling in the booklet, pocketed it and made to get away.

“WAIT!” the man then exclaimed, “If you’re a wizard, you can magic out the fires!” he dashed after Fabian and roughly grabbed his arm, spinning him around.

Fabian bristled, jerking back his arm. “I will do no such thing!” he hissed, “the Muggle authorities will arrive shortly, and they will put out the fires!” Putting out the fires and repairing the damage cost too much time, and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee could use the damage and the fires very well to explains the deaths. Concealing these kinds of incidents was hard enough without needing to conceal the repairs too!

He turned to storm away again, but the man grabbed his arm again and pulled him violently off his feet.

Fabian Prewett had had well enough. His profession was duel l ing Dark Wizards, for goodness sake!

“ _Flipendo!_ ”

The Muggle was harshly thrown back, and landed with a satisfying crash back in his kitchen. A short female shriek sounded from somewhere in the house, indicating the presence of more residents. He knew it was immoral and unlawful to use magic on a Muggle, but this one had tried to bash his brain in with a frying pan, so he was of the opinion that he had every right to magically knock him out.

He joined Gideon and two other Hit Wizards, Hadrian Smith and Nina Shafiq, in a little huddle a bit off the side. There hadn’t been any traces of other wizards or witches, victim or culprit, so it seemed to be an attack on Muggles only.

They silently watched the obliviators scurrying about, rounding up the last living Muggles convincing them it was a terrible “fireworks accident”. A few lonely reporters had found their way to the crime scene, and were taking pictures as the green skull was being dispelled. They chatted a bit - since there was nothing more the Hit Wizards could do - about Shafiq’s old, ill mother, the Prewetts’ little nephew, Quidditch, before landing on the topic of the scene in front of them.

They would have helped the scared and wounded Muggles, of course, but weren’t allowed to. All Muggles officially and legally fell under the responsibility of the the Muggle authorities, and as Ministry workers they should trust their Muggle counterparts would handle it smoothly. Besides, as Gideon went on, wizards already went to great pains to protect and shield Muggles without getting anything in return, so wouldn’t it be only highly impractical for wizards to do even more? And it were Muggles who would hunt witches and wizards in the first place! Smith agreed, but argued the Muggles literally didn’t know any better, so the twins had to admit that Muggles weren’t  _really_ at fault. They could hardly keep the relation even if they didn’t know the Wizarding world  _existed_ . 

Shafiq simply ignored the whole conversation, finding it quite irksome so many wizards spoke about Muggles as if they were some alien tribe. Though she guessed she agreed wizards should reveal themselves to the Muggles, as it would make it so much  _easier_ to talk these things out. Then incidents like this might never happen.

When the skull had been taken down, Davis and the others joined them before all returning to their offices. Fabian and Gideon brought their notes to the Auror office, and went back to sitting at their desk.


	13. Godfrey Weasley 1974

_Godfrey Weasley 1974_

 

“No.”

“But at least they are _doing_ something, they’re trying to _fight back_! Isn’t that _exactly_ what you always wanted, what you’ve always said the wizarding world should attempt to do!?”

Godfrey was pacing in an agitated speed in front of him, almost running, his formal black robes swishing angrily around his ankles. Arthur regarded him passively, sitting on a chair with a cup of tea in his hand, determined to refute his brother’s fanatical arguments with his own rock-hard logic.

“No, and that’s flat. This is _exactly_ what I’ve always been _warning_ about. I won’t be surprised if these ‘Death Eaters’ will be the reason the Statute is broken! They have _no_ consideration for stealth, _no_ consideration for secrecy, they just attack, out in the open, no consideration for the consequences, _at all_! I can’t even _believe_ you’re thinking of joining this foolery, and trying to convince me to come right along!”

Godfrey scoffed, not stopping in either his pacing or his conviction for a moment. “Those Muggles don’t see what’s in front of their noses.” he argued, “How often have they reported  _anything_ of what’s going on!?”

The younger sibling finally snapped, reaching the end of his tolerance, “None, and have you  _any idea_ how much work that has been for us!?” he pointed out, “The load has more than  _tripled_ , and still we continually make slips because we need to dash off cases! And it’s not only me that does overwork, but also Molly’s brothers, her aunt, uncle George – Merlin, half the Ministry is working itself up-side-down just to keep the stories at bay, just keep the Muggles from discovering and everything evolving into one, big, nuclear war! Of all people, I hoped  _you_ at least could appreciate that!” 

That was no lie. While one half of the Ministry of Magic was busy with protecting the magical society and arresting the terrorist group known as ‘Death Eaters’, the other half of the departments was currently solely focussing on thinking up lies for the Muggle government and cleaning the messes the Death Eaters left in Muggle towns. Arthur, as a lower supervisor in the Obliviator Headquarters, knew better than anyone how dire the situation was.

This time Godfrey did halt to glance at his brother, but persisted nonetheless. “Rabastan is already working up their circles, as well as Rodulphus and his wife, that crazy Black girl one year below you. Her younger sister married Malfoy a few years ago, they both joined up this summer.”

Arthur raised one eyebrow sceptically. “And that is supposed to convince me how?”

“If _Malfoy_ is gearing up for a fight, we Weasleys can hardly stand at the side lines.” Godfrey explained.

“That might do it for Bill, not for me. Plus, you seem to be forgetting I have two sons to think about, and you will have your own child within a month! Have you even considered that!?”

“ _Of course I’ve considered my child_.” Godfrey retorted sharply, “I’m doing this for his future!”

“Boys,” they both turned when they heard their mother’s voice admonishing them quietly, “Your grandfather has only been buried for a few hours, must you make him turn in his grave already?”

Both men blushed, “Excuse us, mum. That had never been our intention.”

She smiled softly. Despite her steadily growing age, Cedrella Weasley could still be described as a beauty. Though her dark curls – tied up in a bun and hidden under a hat – were streaked with grey, she was still fit and her black dress stood her nicely. In her hands she held her own cup of tea. “I know, and I’m sure Frugoldus won’t mind anymore. It’s just disrespectful.”

“Indeed.” Arthur agreed firmly, and glared at Godfrey who at least had the decency to look ashamed. As in fact, Frugoldus would be heart-broken to hear his own kin talk about attacking and terrorizing Muggles, had he been still alive. He’d probably have it all blamed on Cedrella, though.

As Frugoldus had been old when he died in peace, it were mostly his children and their families that had attended the funeral. They had buried him on the family site near Weasley Cottage, next to Lillian, with Alrod and Carolus and all their ancestors up to Charles Galahad, who’d sold the Den. It had been a crisp March day, with neither sun nor rain. After the ceremony, they’d all transferred to the Cottage, where they’d stayed with tea and cake.

Galieus, Arthur’s youngest uncle, had the largest crowd. After he’d moved to Thugscrook to work there as an exorcist, he’d met the young Catherine Thellorp, a simple witch who worked as a shopgirl. They’d married and had five children, all of them boys, the youngest of whom was now thirteen. Cedrella’s parents would have scoffed at the family – while Catherine had a wizarding background, neither she nor any of their children had attended Hogwarts, as Galieus had deemed it too expensive. Not that either George or Septimus approved of this  – however, Galieus had inherited an especially thick skin from his father and was more than happy to play the disappointment of the family.

George and Amelia were there too, together with their son Anthony, who was working hard to fulfil his dream of becoming a lawyer. Despite his adequate N.E.W.T. scores, he started at the bottom, which meant his days were filled with stacking papers and copying records for jurists higher up. George hoped that by putting word in with the right people, he could help his son, though his last name still made it difficult for the boy to climb in the corrupt and biased field.

Septimus too had come with his wife and all their three children, and Arthur had brought Molly as well. Molly’s brothers had offered to watch Bill and Charlie for a day, so they could have the time to go and give Arthur’s grandfather a proper farewell. Bilius had come alone, and Godfrey’s wife Helena sat a table talking with an old friend of the family.

“You know, Godfrey,” Cedrella suddenly began, her cup raising in front of her mouth and her eyes scanning the crowd, “You are my only son who ended up in Slytherin. You and I both know as no other the virtues of our house; cunning, ambition, achievement and self-preservation,” she took a thoughtful sip, “A true Slytherin would rather avoid the fight and keep all options open until victory is certain. And yet here you are, gathering your comrades to take up arms.”

She looked at her middle son. “It’s funny that of everyone in this family it is  _you_ who’s decided to join Lord Voldemort. You are taking quite a risk, fighting against the establishment. You do realize that when this all fails, you and your friends will most likely end up in Azkaban.”

“I realize this very well, mum, but society is changing, and if they are fighting for the wizarding world, I want to be part of that.”

Cedrella snorted, “Spoken like a true Weasley.”

“I will be careful.” he promised.

“This whole plan is the very _opposite_ of careful!” she responded a bit tartly, then quickly took a sip of hot tea to regain her posture. 

“My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to sound cross. I’m not reprimanding you, I actually have always kind of expected something like this. Your uncle Alrod was even younger than you, had three children, but he too ‘wasn’t careful’ _…_ ”, she snorted, “so he decided to grapple a graphorn and died. Your great-uncle Carolus wasn’t careful either, with the potions he was creating, and caused White Cliff to explode, killing him, his wife, their son and unborn child. Going out like a true Gryffindor, one might say. That’s why your father’s family has always been naturally afflicted to the house of the brave: The Weasleys come from a long, pure line of impossibly reckless and contrary wizards. But don’t mind me; I married one. And it’s widely known within – and outside – wizarding society that my family line is riddled with dark magic and lunatics, so I’m hardly the person to call you out on this crazy plot of yours.”

But crazy it was, in that she might be right. As crazy as collecting wings of death birds and creating a giant, flying perpetual mobile out of them, that Cedrella’s aunt Belvina was always convinced she could ride. As crazy as tirelessly defending Goblin rights in the Wizengamot during what would later be seen as one of the bloodiest Goblin uprisings of British history, like Septimus’ grandfather Ragenald Weasley. As crazy as a son of humble, simple Frugoldus’ marrying a Black.

“But you still should, as it is crazy.” Arthur bit out, glaring at his brother. “A dangerous brand of crazy, that will either get you killed or exposed.”

Cedrella nodded. “Indeed, you are more than right. Unfortunately, that’s exactly the brand of crazy that runs through the family, on both my and your father’s side. Honestly, I’m more surprised that so many from the old Slytherin families have decided to join this rebellion – it’s such a Gryffindor thing to do.” she joked, “You would think they would be more cautious.”

She took another sip, before she bemoaned to them, “You’re both adults now, so I won’t tell you what to do. But please think of your mother’s poor heart when you’re being uncareful.”

…

That evening, not long after he and Helena had returned from the funeral, the doorbell rang of their London apartment. Godfrey had not been expecting any visitors, but was even more surprised when he found who was at their front door. As a Hufflepuff with light-brown locks and a rather calm, quiet demeanour, he was maybe the most divergent member of their family.

“Anthony?”

He quickly stepped aside to let his cousin in, who looked rather on edge. “What is it? Why are you here? We just saw each other at the funeral.”

“I overheard you this afternoon.” Anthony answered, coming directly to the crux to the matter even as Godfrey closed the door. “You’re planning to join the Death Eaters.”

Godfrey gave his younger cousin a bemused stare. “I won’t be a Death Eater immediately.” he started to explain, a bit patronizingly, “Only when I’ve completed some missions and gai–”

His lecture faltered as Anthony started rolling up his sleeve, exposing his left forearm.

The silence stretched out as Godfrey blatantly stared at the Dark Mark on his younger cousin's arm.

“Geoff, don’t do it, don’t join the Dark Lord.” Anthony spoke softly, almost a whisper. Godfrey looked up astonished. “I can’t really explain why, I can’t tell you anything, but take my word for it. You don’t want to get involved, in any of it.”

“Anthony. What are you talking about?” Anthony looked up too, catching Godfrey’s eyes, “How did you get this?” The younger man smirked sadly.

“Secrecy oath. Can’t tell.”

Godfrey swore profusely. Not unlike Unspeakables, all lawyers in magical Britain, even the lowest assistants and errand boys, were magically sworn to secrecy about any and all correspondence between them and their clients. Apparently, this extended to Death Eaters who ask their jurists to serve their Dark Lord. It was a low trick, as the lawyer wasn’t even allowed to identify  _who_ had contacted them, so the Death Eater was entirely safe, even as Godfrey suspected Anthony had been forced into this by the way he looked. Anthony’s face held a mixture of nervousness, grief and the bitter smugness of the younger cousin showing up the older. 

“Does anyone know?” Godfrey asked, and when Anthony didn’t respond, he asked, “Do your _parents_ even know?”

“You’re the first,” he confided. He finally let his sleeve fall back in place. “As to how I got this, the only thing I can say is it’s partly an elaborate scheme to get at our family, and partly my own stupid fault.” Even without having any indication to the identity of the culprit, Godfrey knew then who was responsible for his cousin’s predicament. There was only one family in Death Eater circles who hated the Weasleys enough to act on it, was in the position to legally strike Anthony and was petty enough to use the youngest and most innocent branch to get at the family. Malfoy. But Godfrey knew Anthony couldn’t confirm anything. “I’ve been played for a fool, Geoff, and acted the part perfectly.”

“Anthony? What are you doing here?” Helena had appeared in the hall, probably curious what kept her husband so long. Godfrey gestured to her to go back and take a seat and led Anthony to the living room.

Once they were all deposited around the fire Godfrey explained the situation to his wife. After pressing Anthony to at least inform his parents about this, which he promised to do, after getting a bit annoyed, Helena smiled and embraced him. “Your parents will be proud, you know,” she promised him, “Willingly or not, you’re fighting for wizardkind! You’re rebelling against the ministry, the first Death Eater in the family! That’s something, isn’t it?”

Godfrey smiled at her words, adoring the way she tried to rid Anthony of his shame, yet he couldn’t find it within himself to feel anything but wrath at Lucius Malfoy, who in his mind was the most likely culprit. Anthony could indeed be proud, the fact he was forced to join didn’t make his actions count any less, no matter how much he should have never been involved in this war. It was a bitter pride, but pride nonetheless.

Anthony didn’t seem to agree though. He stood up and wrestled himself free – without hurting the baby, naturally.

“No! That’s – that’s terrible!”

Helena fell back in the couch, startled by his reaction. Anthony’s eyes were wide and frantic, and he was breathing a bit too hard, as if he was keeping himself from outright screaming to them. When Godfrey tried to reach out he scrambled hastily around the coffee table where he had space to step back. “No, it’s – nothing to be proud of! You don’t understand – it’s terrible, just terrible!”

He took another step back and rubbed his forehead with both hands, muttering again that they didn’t understand, before covering his face. There was a beat of silence, in which Anthony stood in the middle of the room, his face hidden behind his hands, and Godfrey and Helena looked at each other.

“You’re fighting for…” Godfrey started soothingly, but was cut off by a decisive ‘no’. Anthony put down his hands and balled his fists, looking at the couple resolutely. “You don’t understand, so let me explain.”

After a moment, Godfrey closed his mouth and sat back, listening.

“I’m fighting a war I never planned to be part of, I was tricked into it, I was stupid, I can’t tell anyone who did this to me or what exactly happened and one way or another I’m bound to end up in Azkaban – and it’s all terrible, but that’s beside the point. That’s all completely beside the point, because I came here to warn you, Godfrey. This is not about me, this is about _you_.

You must not join the Dark Lord. You think – you both think – it’s something to proud of apparently, but let me tell you, for all his talk about the superiority of purebloods Lord Voldemort treats us like  _dirt_ . He rules his Death Eaters by fear, humiliates and tortures anyone who disobeys him and expects us to follow him without question. He expects us to  _worship_ him. He doesn’t want power for the purebloods, he mostly wants power for himself! No one dares to say anything out of fear and once you get involved you never get out. If you join Lord Voldemort, you’re not ‘fighting for wizardkind’, you’re serving your lord! That’s what we are:  _servants_ ! And you don’t want to be a servant, Godfrey, I know that you don’t, none of us want to be servants.” Anthony snorted with dark humour, “That’s why we’re fighting, isn’t it?”

Godfrey nodded yes, dumbstruck by what he’d heard. He’d always wondered at the great respect and fear Rabastan spoke of his Lord, but had always assumed that was simply because he was a truly marvellous wizard. Never would he have guessed his friend would let himself be ordered around by Voldemort, like a  _servant_ , that he had an actual reason to fear him. Anger and indignation filled him. How dared this Voldemort treat all these great Ancient and Noble Houses this way. How stupid had he been himself, to nearly let himself be treated like that! How awful must this be for Anthony, who hadn’t even himself to blame…

Sympathy and guilt must’ve been evident on his face, as Anthony winced when he looked at him. But he hadn’t come here for comfort, Godfrey understood that now.

“Please don’t join the Dark Lord.” he said, his voice softer again, “Because he won’t give you what you want. Or else because he’s setting the Muggles on us, as Arthur said, or because it’s a Gryffindor thing to do, as Aunt Cedrella said. Whoever you want to listen to, don’t.”

“I won’t.” Godfrey promised solemnly, and finally Anthony seemed a bit relieved.

“But what about you?” he asked worriedly, and Anthony’s breath wavered.

“I –” He halted, not quiet knowing how to end that sentence. “I’ll have to find a way. It’s not like I can back out anymore, I can only warn you…” he shrugged. “I’ll tell my parents.” he then decided, “But it’s not like they can help me.”

“Your parents love you very much.” Helena mused sadly, and no one could say anything to that. All parents loved their children, but Amelia’s and George’s whole world revolved around Anthony, if anyone realized that it was Anthony himself. It was part of why he had not told them yet, he didn’t want to hurt them. But if something was to happen to him, they needed to know why.

“I know.”

After a few more quiet moments, Anthony took his leave, embracing Helena, Godfrey clasping his shoulder, him wishing them good luck with the baby, and them wishing him good luck with surviving Lord Voldemort.


	14. Remus Lupin 1979

_Remus Lupin 1979_

The Order could provide them safety. The thought sprang unbiddingly in Remus’ head as he watched Gabrielle sobbing for her lost love and Robert cursing Voldemort’s Death Eaters for their betrayal. A few days ago, under the cold light of the full moon, their pack of werewolves had let themselves transform near a small mixed town of both wizards and Muggles, as part of a larger attack led by Death Eaters. In return, they’d been promised shelter from the Ministry’s people, but they had gotten nothing of the sort. Instead, the attack had drawn a clear trail to their hiding spot, while the Death Eaters had disappeared from view. Now, the Ministry had ambushed their camp in the dead of night, arresting and capturing people on sight. Amidst the panic, Remus and Robert had managed to escape the Aurors and had fled into dark woods, pulling Gabrielle along. They’d just taken a quick brake from running, hiding amongst the trees.

If Remus managed to contact the Order now and save Robert and Gabrielle, he might still partly succeed in where he’d miserably failed. Originally, the plan had been to integrate himself in this werewolf pack and to prevent the very thing that had just happened: the recruitment of the werewolves by the Death Eaters. It was in vain, however, as the two leaders of their little gang, Philippe Wakkerdam and Hervé de Thiercelieux, had already been firmly in the pockets of Voldemort’s men by the time he became accepted. The saddest part was that he unavoidably had become close friends with all of them, and he found it difficult to fault the pack for wanting to survive and to be together. For that was what they were, essentially: a group of friends bound together by their curse and their will to live. Becoming part of their pack was like becoming part of a family.

However, he didn’t completely abandon his duty as member of the Order of the Phoenix. As Remus witnessed Death Eaters frequenting their camp, unable to warn the others without giving himself away, he suddenly found himself in the ideal position for a spy, as no one would suspect he had still good friends outside of their clique. He’d been reporting the movements of their various visitors to the Order for months before the attack had taken place. That was something he would need to give up if he wanted to save them, but as the majority of the pack was being captured at that very moment, it wasn’t much of a loss.

“We need to hide. I know a safe place not too far from here, we could fly there if we had brooms.” Remus glanced sharply at Robert Moon, who’d echoed his exact thoughts just before he could speak them. He knew a hiding place too?

“But Hervé… They’ve got Hervé, we need to save him…” Remus enclosed Gabrielle in a tight embrace, as he let her tears fall down on his neck. Gabrielle was Hervé’s girlfriend, or wife, as you might have called her rather, even though she and Hervé had never seen the chance to marry. They were pretty solid together, and even were expecting their first child in a half year.

As Gabrielle drowned his neck, Remus  contemplated this new development. If Robert would take them to a hiding place, he could keep his cover, and maybe even acquire more useful information for the Order. On the other hand, it might be not so useful as he’d imagined, or as secure as what the Order could offer them, and if he was true too himself, he would rather admit to his spying and work for the Order out in the open.

And he missed his other friends. James, Sirius, Peter and Lily. They had always been good to him, and he wanted to fight at their sides.

“We don’t have brooms.” he said shortly, not yet decided if he was hoping Robert’s plan would work out or not. If it was possible, it was his duty to keep his cover, but the prospect of simply coming out in the clear and introducing Robert and Gabrielle to the Order was so tempting. In contrast to him, they had never had the luck to attend Hogwarts and find such good, loyal friends amongst wizard society. They’d been on the run for ages, even long before the war had started. But Dumbledore would see to it that they didn’t need to run any more, and he would provide for them a place to stay, a safe place where Gabrielle could birth and raise her child. Or so Remus hoped.

“We could apperate as well, but I’m not that good at apperation. I could side-along you to our destination, and then you can come back here and get Gabrielle, but I’m not apperating a pregnant woman.”

Remus glanced around the trunk they were hiding behind. The lights of what once was their camp shone brightly against the black of the  surrounding  forest, flickering as shadows were moving around  – of the Aurors searching their tents and shacks. They were far away, though, and probably wouldn’t notice the pop of apperation.

“Alright,” Remus agreed, “If Gabrielle agrees too?”

They waited until she nodded, wiping her tear-stained face with dirt-stained hands.

Robert grabbed his arm tightly. “Okay. Here we go.”

An uncomfortable moment later they were again in a forest, one with less pines and smaller trees, however, and with an oddly fresh, flowerly smell. Luckily, they had arrived mostly whole, only Remus’ left arm missed the sleeve along with much of its hair and a small snippet of his elbow had been lost along the way. After taking a second to regain his orientation and take in his surroundings, Remus apparated back to Gabrielle and brought her to the spot.

“So, where are we, and what are we doing here?” he asked Robert as soon as they all were together between the trees. Robert was standing with his back towards them, looking through the forest as if searching for something, or someone.

“There should be a house somewhere ‘round here.” he answered, “A large stone and wooden cottage with two tall, prominent gables on each side of the house. Normally it appears easily when one knows what to look for, but sometimes the bewitchment behaves a bit erratically, making it hard to spot. See if you can find a path somewhere, or a large maple tree. Or a fence, or maybe an old, low, stone wall.”

After about half  an hour of seeking any of the objects Robert had described, just as Remus tiredly began reconsidering bringing the others to the Order anyway, Robert suddenly perked up as they came across a small stream he seemed to recognize. He followed it up, and indeed they soon came upon the low, stone wall Robert had spoken about. They made their way across it, and indeed, after some unexpected turns and twists they suddenly were standing on a narrow path, only a few metres from a clearing in which stood a cosy looking wizarding home. Robert walked up the path and pounded on the door.

As it was in the middle of the night, it took a few minutes before someone answered. As they waited, Remus enquired Robert about the house.

“Who’s living here? Family of yours?” Robert had once told him his family, the Moons, were mostly pureblood wizards who kept away from the Muggles, so it wouldn’t surprise him if some cousin or aunt or uncle of his inhabited the secluded place. Robert shook his head, though.

“This is Weasley Cottage, as far as I know it’s been in the Weasley family ever since it was built. You might have heard of them, they’re one of the oldest and purest families around, even if they’re very poor if you compare them with most pureblood families.” Remus wouldn’t call the cottage they were standing in front of particularly shabby or poor, but from what he’d seen of Sirius’ and James’ estates, he could imagine it might seem so from the average pureblood’s point of view.

“They’re very proud, though, too proud to join Voldemort from what I’ve heard. They support pureblood ideology, obviously, but luckily for us they are surprisingly tolerant. They take in all sorts of refugees, including werewolves.”

A window lit up above them, and Robert knocked on the door again. Footsteps could be heard, and what Remus thought  to be a child’s voice. He looked at the weathered face of his friend. “So, who’s side are they on?”

“No one’s. And that’s the great thing.” A smile stretched on Robert’s face, and Remus let it almost lighten his own wariness and exhaustion. “We’re safe here.”

The light in the hallway lit up, shining through an embroidered curtain blocking the view through the door window. A few moments later the door was thrown open harshly by a stout, fierce-looking woman with flaming red hair. She held her wand raised confidently in front of her, appearing more than prepared to trash a Death Eater or Auror or two. Behind her stood a tall, just as shockingly red-haired man with icy blue eyes behind thin-wired glasses, also with his wand aloft as if expecting to back his wife up in a fight. For a moment Remus expected to be hexed at sight, and cursed himself for not thinking through the idea of knocking on a family’s door at three AM during war time. The woman’s sharp, dark eyes scanned the small group at her threshold before settling on Robert, narrowing in vague recognition, as she slightly lowered her wand, but not quite.

“Do I know you, sir?”

“Ah, yes. Robert Moon is the name, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley…” Robert nodded to each of the Weasleys in turn, before hastily continuing to explain, “I’ve dined one or two times at your home, ma’am, as a friend of Godfrey’s. You might not remember me, but we’re werewolves and our camp has just been found by the Ministry… You said we could always come here if nowhere else was safe.”

She lowered her wand now fully and her stare made way for a warm and welcoming smile, even if her look still held a prickle of wariness. “Ah, of course, Mr. Moon. You were that man talking with Mr. Davis, at the time, weren’t you? My apologies for not immediately recognizing you, your arrival came quite…  _unexpected_ .”

“I can imagine, ma’am.” Robert responded with a polite nod and a smile. “May we come in?”

Mrs. Weasley quickly hushed them all inside, closing the door behind her. As they moved through the corridor towards the kitchen, Remus thought he saw two glimpses of red disappearing up the stairway, just as they walked past.

As they sat down the extended kitchen table Robert introduced Remus Lupin and Gabrielle de Thiercelieux to Molly and Arthur Weasley, the latter of whom looked a lot warmer and more pleasant once he got his wand out of the way and relaxed a bit. Under the enjoyment of a cup of tea and a slice of home-made cake, they told the story of what had happened to their pack and asked for a place to stay, if only for a night.

“That should be more than fine.” Molly ascertained them, “The guest room is still free. It’s actually made for two people so it will be a bit tight, but tomorrow we can look into an enlarging spell too make it all a bit more comfortable.”

“We’d be very grateful.” Robert said, relieve filling his words.

Molly shook her head though. “No, no need to thank us. Your lives have just been destroyed by the Ministry, after being scandalously betrayed by Voldemort’s people after a lifetime of being ostracised by just about the entire wizarding society. Just see this as an apology, from a part of that society, because we owe you at least that. And besides, it would go against anything my mother ever taught me to leave a pregnant woman outside in the middle of the night. It’s nothing more than common decency.”

Remus snorted darkly at that. “It _should_ be common decency, but still our kind could never count on any such kindness.”

Molly just looked at him sadly. It somehow reminded him of the fact Remus himself was only nineteen and just barely out of Hogwarts – she would’ve probably thought his entire short life he’d been living in that camp in the woods, eating self-poached meat and canned beans.

It was Arthur that lead them to the room. After the third bed had been conjured it indeed was quite tight, but what the Weasleys probably didn’t realise was that the werewolves often slept on the hard ground in their little tents so the arrangement was for them luxurious indeed. It had literally been months since Remus last lay on a real bed.

Before he exited the room, Arthur Weasley added one more request. “We’d ask you not to wander around at night, and please do not enter the corridor at the other side of the staircase or beyond the bathroom I showed you. There are some very nasty wards installed there you do _not_ want to get caught in, and if we find you back crushed and squashed behind the plaster in the wall or locked in the attic being slowly consumed by fungi, I’ll tell you: my wife and I will gladly leave you to your fate.”

Remus frowned. “Why?”

Arthur’s smile was with love, but without cheer. “That’s where our children sleep.”

The three werewolves nodded in understanding. The most pacifist of people would kill you if you threatened their children. It was only sensible that their were deadly traps protecting them at night, especially when a house served as a safe house for war refugees and relative strangers went and came as they pleased.

They bid their host a good night and made up for bed. They all were tired after the chase they’d just escaped from, and being werewolves, none of them were particular good sleepers. In the corner of his eye Remus glimpsed Gabrielle, silently cradling her bump.

Hervé had been like an elder brother to them all, even to Remus, caring and responsible for the entire pack and never letting any of them swerve astray. Remus was sure he would’ve made a great Healer, or maybe even an Auror, hadn’t he gotten the virus as a child; Hervé was a lot like himself in that way, only Hervé originally came from France and the Head Master of Beauxbatons was no Dumbledore.

The flip side of that coin was that Hervé had become a very angry and authoritarian man, and a monster of a wolf. He was ruthless to anyone outside their little clique, and when Remus had tried to cautiously talk him out of their cruel, disastrous plan he had first snorted at him, then snapped at him and then threatened to bite his throat out if Remus ever said another traitorous word in his pack. Remus hadn’t.

For the sake of public safety it probably _was_ for the better to have Hervé locked up, but it was not his fault he’d become this way. And it certainly wasn’t Robert’s or Gabrielle’s fault, even _if_ they would follow Hervé and Philippe till the end. For them he was a good leader, so they never really had a choice. All of them had been abandoned by their old friends and family, and no human could live truly alone. It was as Mrs. Weasley had said: society had betrayed them.

For that reason, it was very convenient Robert had a safe house.  _Very_ convenient, and very suspicious, since as far as he’d known Remus was the only member of the pack with acquaintances in the outside world.  And he himself had been only there to spy for the Order.

“Robert,” he asked, “How do you know these people? I believed you had lost all contact before Philippe found you.”

“One of the Death Eaters –” Robert spoke around his toothbrush, before he removed it from his mouth and spat in the sink.

“One of the Death Eaters that came to our camp, Nicholas Barker his name is, the tall young man with the goatee and curling hair, we got talking and he offered me a place to stay if I would ever need to leave the pack. He told me he’s the brother of Arthur’s brother-in-law – if I remember correctly – but he invited me here for a meeting with the ‘Circle of the Hoodwink’, as they call themselves. After the ‘Order of the Phoenix’, which is apparently a secret resistance set up by Dumbledore.” Not as secret as they’d hoped to be, it seemed.

“Their network consist mostly of the Weasley family plus good friends, but they are quite large – especial for purebloods – and there are plenty of others who feel the same, so it all works out well enough. There are many Death Eaters like Nicholas who frequent here, who do not feel safe with You-Know-Who and can’t go to the Ministry for obvious reasons, much like us, actually. They like having a back-up group if they ever need to flee.”

So it was a support group for dissident Death Eaters and other outcasts. That might be very interesting for the Order, much more so than the actions of a bunch of homeless werewolves. Actually, as a spy he might have coincidentally managed to wriggle himself in the perfect position to figure out the weakest links in the ranks of their enemy. If he found a way to get closer to this group, who knew what he’d find.

On the other hand he realised how close he’d been to accidentally planting a potential spy who could leak who knew what to the Death Eaters. Robert was a good man, but Remus would’ve never known about his contacts with this Nicholas and Robert could have easily given everything away not thinking anything of it.

Just as he just did.

“You know, when I told him my name, Nicholas said his grand-mother was a Moon. It’s funny to think we would be related.”

Everyone in the wizarding world was related. Sirius and James were cousins, too. It wouldn’t surprise Remus at all if ever he himself turned out to be a distant cousin of Filch.

…

He’d related everything to the Order.

“The Weasleys...” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, “I do remember them from their time at Hogwarts. Everyone had quite a start when Septimus was sorted in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor. Since then they’ve been sorted across all the four houses.”

“And it was the Hufflepuff who got arrested for kidnap and torture of twenty-seven muggles.” Mad-Eye grumbled darkly, putting a direct end to any speculation over their possible alliances. “The wife’s brothers, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, are in the DMLE’s top hit squad – annoying as hell, they’re trying to get too close, if they know about the Order they must suspect I’m part of it – all they talk about when I am near is how much they hate You-Know-Who. They’ll want to join. But the lot of them are purebloods either too smart or too proud to join the Dark Lord. No one from that corner is to be trusted; they might not have taken the enemy’s side, but in the end they want the same. They’re impoverished old families, a pureblood supremacy would favour them.”

Dumbledore simply frowned in thought, taking the Head-Aurors words in consideration.

“We’re not trusting them, we’re spying on them.” Remus replied snappishly, he still felt physically weak from his last transformation. And psychically… the pictures of that night would probably haunt him forever.

“You are too attached.” Mad-Eye accused, and he was right of course, but it was impossible not to get attached when the pack received you as family – people who had no other family for themselves.

“Well, at least I’m getting scrambled eggs and baked beans from the enemy.” he said obtusely. Purebloods or not, Molly’s breakfasts rivalled that of Hogwarts.

Sirius’ eyes widened in realisation. “Cedrella asked me to join them two years ago. She offered me a place for when my parents would throw me out, but I already had James’ offer so I refused.”

Mad-Eye snorted. “She’s going by all her cousins? Then Potter here is just as suspect as you are.”

Sirius crossed his arms moodily. “Don’t be ridiculous. We all know the four of us can be trusted.”

“But what about your brother? What will he do when he finishes Hogwarts?” Remus asked. Sirius said nothing, but tightened his fingers around his arms.

“Robert also mentioned this Nicholas Barker was ‘the brother of the brother-in-law – if I remember correctly’ to Arthur Weasley, and the group consists mostly of old friends or family for as much as I heard. That means it’ll be quite easy to guess who will or will not know of this network if we know how everyone is related.”

Sirius briskly summed up, as Remus tended to forget he knew _exactly_ how everyone was related: “Arthur Weasley only has two brothers, and Godfrey is already married to some Czech witch, so that will be Bilius and he hasn’t been married as far as I know. I believe the youngest generation of the Barkers exists of just two children, the youngest is called Nicholas, the elder one is a girl named Barbette who’s been married to a Samuel Hopkins but he died some years ago, I believe Hopkins was a Death Eater. I don’t know what happened to her afterwards but if she’s somehow met Bilius, that would make Nicholas the _brother-in-law of the brother_ of Arthur, not the brother of the brother-in-law. And  if he _were_ the brother of the brother-in-law, that would make him just a brother-in-law and then Barker would have remembered that, wouldn’t he?”

Remus tried to puzzle it all together. “So Arthur has a brother named Godfrey? Molly Weasley said Robert was a ‘friend of Godfrey’s’.”

“Yup, Godfrey Weasley was a Slytherin and is best buds with Rabastan Lestange, whose brother as you all know is the husband of my _dear_ cousin Bellatrix. I wouldn’t be surprised if  more inner circle Death Eaters are _friends of Godfrey_.” Sirius explained with a painfully sarcastic cheer. “And Molly Weasley, who’s maiden name is Prewett as you all know, is the little niece of the old wizard Ignatius Prewett, who in his turned has been married for more than forty-five years to my dear old aunt Lucretia, so Molly, Fabian and Gideon Prewett and I share an uncle and an aunt.”

“Black will help Lupin mapping ‘the Order of the Hoodwink’, and whoever else would be supremacist-sympathiser, and they’ll try to find the weak spots of the Death Eaters as Remus continues to attend the Weasley meetings.” Mad-Eye ordered brusquely. Remus looked at Dumbledore, who nodded.

So Remus’ mission had changed from recruiting a werewolf pack, through spying on the Death Eaters visiting their werewolf pack to spying on Death Eaters opening their hearts about their Lord at Weasley dinner parties.

…

When he came back to Weasley Cottage for dinner, after what the other’s thought was a trip to the Muggle world to pick up some supplies, he was surprised to be greeted not by Mr. or Mrs. Weasley – or anyone from his pack – but by two young, freckled boys with strikingly red hair, who ran up to him from behind the house and stopped him in the lawn to gape up at him.

Remus guessed they were brothers, and the Weasleys’ children. They didn’t differ in age much, the older one was only half a head taller than his younger brother but he had a terribly wise, all-knowing look on his face – which probably came from growing up as the older brother in a house filled with werewolves, Death Eaters and who knew what other sorts of refugees – all harmed or broken by this terrible war. The younger brother looked more blatantly curious – and awed by Remus’ presence, for some reason – and was so freckled he almost looked tan. Both boys were covered in grass and old leaves.

It was the younger one who spoke first. “Bill and Mum says you are cursed, and that you don’t like being a werewolf, but I think you are cool. Werewolves are thrice as fast as humans, they have much better night-sight than humans, they can hear a mouse move from five-hunderd meters away and they can smell blood from up to three kilometers away! You are _so cool_ , I want to be a werewolf when I grow up!”

“And I told Charlie to shut up, and that he is stupid, and then Mum told us to stop pestering the guests and sent us outside.” Bill helpfully elaborated.

“Can you howl for us?”

“Of course he can’t! It is still day, stupid! Werewolves only change when it is full moon!”

“I am not stupid, and I know he can’t change! I know more about werewolves than you do! But maybe he can howl as a human?”

Bill rolled his eyes. “That’s not nice to ask! That’s offensive! And you don’t want to be a werewolf when you grow up, _being a werewolf isn’t fun_! ”

Charlie looked up at an amused Remus again and pointed accusingly at Bill. “Did you hear that? He said you aren’t fun! He says it is not nice to ask you about being a werewolf, but saying someone isn’t fun is _really_ not nice! Bill is mean, isn’t he? But don’t worry about stupid Bill, _I_ still think you are fun! And cool! _You are so cool!_ ”

Bill was about to push Charlie then, but Remus hastily pulled the two boys apart. “Calm down, I’m not offended. And it’s not nice to call Bill mean, Charlie. But it is also not nice to call each other stupid.”

Charlie cockily said to Bill, “You hear that? It’s not nice to call me stupid!” Bill just rolled his eyes and countered, “When you are not listening I can call you stupid, because you _are_ stupid if you don’t listen. ”

“Both fair points,” Remus interfered before it could escalate into another argument, “So what about a compromise? Charlie will try to listen better to what people are saying and Bill doesn’t call Charlie stupid any more?”

“But aren’t you offended by what he said?” Bill innocently asked.

“No, I’m not, because I know Charlie didn’t mean anything unkind by it.” Remus answered, reassuring Bill that he was not, in fact, hurt or angry.

“I didn’t!” Charlie swore, seeming startled by the idea that what he said might’ve come across as such.

“Of course you didn’t. But what Bill and your Mum say is true, it’s not fun to be a werewolf.”

“See?” Bill said, glad to be proven in the right.

“But werewolves are so much more powerful than humans!” Charlie exclaimed, “And they are partly spell-reti… ritree… – uh, you can’t stop them with magic, and they can hear and see and smell so many more things...”

“Only when they are changed.” Remus reminded Charlie – he suspected the boy had retrieved some kind of informative book about werewolves from somewhere in the house, and seeing his enthusiasm, the boy probably now knew more trivia about werewolves than even Remus did himself. “And when they are changed they are very dangerous creatures, who try to harm and even _kill_ any humans they see, even their own friends and family, which makes the werewolf feel very sad and guilty when he turns back into a human. That is why good werewolves like me, Robert and Gabrielle usually keep away from normal humans, so we don’t unintentionally harm them when we change. ” Or at least unless their leaders had made a deal with the Dark Lord, in which case they actually _aimed_ to hurt as many people as possible.

“Oh.” Charlie said, sounding disappointed and a bit guilty. “That’s stupid. And you really can’t stop yourself from doing that?”

Remus shook his head. “No, we really can’t. So next month, when it is full moon again, we will be far away from here, and from any other people, so far away that we can’t hear or smell anyone and no one will be harmed.”

Charlie wanted to ask more questions, but it was then that Molly Weasley appeared from behind the house, looking for her two sons. To Remus slight surprise, she held a third freckled, red-haired son by the hand, three or four years old. In Remus’ experience, Pure-blood families seldom had more than one or two children, the only notable exception being the Blacks.

When she saw Remus standing in the front-lawn with her two elder sons, she smiled warmly at them. “Arthur has just come home from work, Bill, Charlie, if you two bring Remus and our other guests to the table I will get the twins.”

“You’ve got twins?” Remus said. Unless the boy at her hand was one of them, that brought their number of children to a grand total of five.

“Fred and George, they’ve only just become one year old. We’ve named them after my brothers, Gideon and Fabian, they are also twins and a great pair of trouble-makers. This is Percy.” She nodded at the young boy at her side, “He’s a bit shy, or at least he is if you compare him to most of his family. But he is only three and has already started learning to read!” She added proudly.

Mrs. Weasley went back in with Percy as Remus followed Bill and Charlie to the humble dinner room, the delicious, hearty smells of dinner already waving towards them from the kitchen. While Bill raced forwards to greet his Dad, Charlie hung back a bit, slowing down to walk next to Remus.

“I know being a werewolf isn’t fun, and that you are dangerous when you are changed, but why do you need to stay away from people when you are human? You’re not dangerous now, are you?”

“No, I’m not, I would never hurt you or your family or anyone when I am human, but most wizards still are afraid of us because of what we are.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” Charlie confided, and Remus wouldn’t show it, but his heart melted a bit. “I’m not afraid of anything!” he proudly exclaimed, before continuing in a more quiet tone, “But I’m also not afraid because I like you. I still think you’re cool – and even if you wouldn’t be a werewolf, I still would think you’re cool.”

But would Charlie still think he was cool if – _when_ _–_ he discovered that he was spying on him and his family for the Order? Somehow, Remus doubted it.


End file.
